


five million years

by anax imperator (anax)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Non-Sticky Sex, OCs die because: war, Plug and Play Sex, Pre-Canon, Skywarp finds religion, an enormous raft of OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-14 14:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1269652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anax/pseuds/anax%20imperator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though a combination of good luck and sheer ballsiness, a young Seeker catches the optic of a much older and more experienced officer. Set long in the past, when the Great War was in its early stages and before the population of Cybertron was decimated, Skywarp (then Skycross) and Thundercracker become entangled with each other, and begin a relationship that will last for millions of years.</p><p>Primary characters are Skywarp and Thundercracker, with other canon characters and a huge raft of OCs playing supporting roles. Contains a great deal of explicit p&p smut, and some non-consensual p&p here and there (chapters containing the non-con carry warnings). Also: big fights! WIP.</p><p>Chinese-language version of this fic can be found here: http://cybertronsaga.com/bbs/read.php?tid-7170.html</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Skycross is not an OC.

_five million years - part 1_

"Holy Primus," said Streak, leaning close to Skycross to be heard, and he pointed. "Check it out, check it out."

Skycross looked, although the constant shift of mech bodies in between him and the indicated corner made it hard to see what he was supposed to be checking. "What?"

"It's Thundercracker."

"Really?" Skycross looked again, but he still couldn't see. The club was packed, although the action was somewhat muted tonight, the music quieter than it usually was - he could actually hear himself speak - and the dancing was less frenetic. He moved a little to the side, so that he could see around a pair of mechs groping each other against the bar, and finally spotted what had gotten Streak all excited.

Over at a corner table, sitting with his back to the wall and nursing a cube of energon, was a Seeker painted some dark color or other; he'd chosen a seat with no direct lighting, so it was hard to make out the shade. He seemed to be keeping a close watch on his cube, staring down into the shimmering fluid. Skycross couldn't tell what made Streak so certain that that was Thundercracker, but the Seeker was definitely an officer, a line of silvery-white practically glowing inside his wing stripe.

The presence of the officer was having an effect on the batch mechs around him, because despite the press of bodies nobody had claimed the other seats at that table.

Skycross leaned closer to his friend. "What's he doing here?" he asked. Officers didn't belong in this club; they had their own club, across the base, and there was a third one for regular Decepticons on the other side of the quad.

Streak shrugged, no longer looking the officer's way, but Skycross could tell that he was intensely curious by the way he kept his optics fixed on the bar. "Maybe he's looking for something. Like, maybe contraband. You know what they say about us."

"Or maybe he's lost," said Skycross. "He's not based here. If that _is_ Thundercracker, and what makes you think that anyway?"

Streak said something, but it was to quiet to hear; Skycross had to yell at him to repeat himself.

"I said I saw him once," said Streak, more loudly. "At Altihex. He took out three Autobot armor all by himself. One of the regular mechs told me afterward who it was. Look how his paint glitters a little. That's him."

There _was_ a sort of glittery undertone to the officer's dark paint, a shiny metallic gloss. Skycross knocked back the last of his energon and stood up. "I'm going to go talk to him."

"What?" Streak laid a restraining hand on Skycross's arm. "Leave him alone!"

Skycross bent down so that he could be heard. "I bet he's just lost. Why would they send an officer that high up to check for contraband? He's not even based here. You're being stupid. Let me go."

"No way. Skycross, leave him alone."

Skycross gave his friend a grin. "It'll be okay. What's the worst that can happen? It's not like it's against the rules to _talk_ to someone like that. And besides, can you imagine what a mech like that could do for one of us?"

"What do you mean?" Streak's optics flicked between Skycross's face and the officer in the corner.

"I mean, look. What happens if Redline gets killed, or promoted? Who'll take his place? What if a mech like Thundercracker put in a good word for you?"

"Are you serious?" Streak laughed. "As if _Thundercracker_ would care what goes on in _our_ unit. You're drunk."

"Only a little." Skycross yanked his arm free. "Wish me luck!"

"Just sit down," said Streak, but he didn't try to grab Skycross's arm again, and he just shook his head when Skycross walked off.

Cutting between the bar and the edge of the dance floor, Skycross managed to get across the room without having to shove too many mechs out of his way, and fortunately none of them took offense. Once he got close to the officer's table, though, he entered a sort of halo of space left clear by the dancing, carousing Decepticons.

Apparently nobody else wanted to get too near to the officer.

It was dark in this corner. Skycross stood as far back as he could without bumping into anyone, respectful.

The officer looked up, and after a moment he raised his voice to be heard over the music. "Yes?" He spoke in a deep baritone.

"Sir," said Skycross, trying to look as smart and proper as he could with three cubes of energon in him. It was kind of hard to maintain the illusion when he had to yell to be heard, though. "I was wondering, this is kind of a low-class place for an officer. If you ..."

The officer waved his hand, and Skycross tapered off. "It's okay. I don't need to be shown where the officers are. This is where I wanted to be."

"... yes, sir," said Skycross, wondering what he ought to do now. He didn't want to just walk off, that would look weird.

"I know I'm probably intimidating all of you by being here," the officer continued. "I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, no sir!" said Skycross, and then he lurched as someone struck him from behind. He caught his balance; the bump seemed to be accidental and it didn't repeat, so he let it slide. "Sorry, sir. No, it's just that the energon isn't that great here, only batch mechs come in here."

After a glance down at the energon in his hand, the officer said, "What do you mean? Come here, sit down."

_Come here? Sit down?_ Hiding his glee as best he could, Skycross pulled out one of the chairs opposite the officer. "Thank you, sir."

"No, not there. Come around here." The officer indicated the seat next to him. "I don't want to shout more than necessary. What's your designation?"

"Skycross, sir." A batch name, bland, unassuming. Skycross came around the table, a little unsure of himself but ecstatic that he hadn't been summarily shooed away. "One-hundred twelfth Seeker division. And ... you're Thundercracker, right sir?"

A hint of a smile touched the officer's mouth. "That's right." He turned his seat a little so that he could look at Skycross.

Streak was going to be _so_ jealous. "I've heard so much about you. It's an honor to meet you." It felt a little weird to be sitting _next_ to Thundercracker, but it was a relief not to have to yell quite so loudly.

"I don't know about that. What are you drinking?"

"Ahh ..." What did that mean? Was Thundercracker offering to buy him a round? Or what? How should he interpret this question? He didn't have a lot of credit chips left, in the event that he was expected to pay for his own. "Just straight-up mid-grade sir."

Thundercracker made a scoffing sound, and raised his hand with two fingers extended, and then beckoned. A moment later, one of the tender drones arrived at the table with two cubes of energon. One of them went in front of Skycross. "Try that," said Thundercracker.

There was no exchange of credit chips; the drone scurried off without even waiting for them. Skycross, with trepidation, took a sip; he expected it to burn his intakes or something, but it went down cool and smooth, and his fuel sensors lit up from the traces of acid in it.

The officer was watching him with a pleased little smirk, which deepened when Skycross took another, longer sip. "Like it?"

"Yes, sir." This must have been the fabled high-grade energon, mixed with something else to give it this pleasant sensor tingle.

"So the energon here isn't so bad."

Another long, slow sip. It felt so _good_ as it warmed up to his operating temperature inside him, playing over his fuel sensors and sending a jolt of power through his systems. "This must be something they hold in reserve for officers, sir," said Skycross.

"Really."

"Yes, sir. They make blends here with the mid-grade, but they cost a lot, and I didn't even know they had any high-grade at all."

"Hmmm."

"I know they have it across the quad, sir. We're batch mechs here, though."

"I see that." And, it _was_ probably pretty obvious; Skycross's scuffed black paint was mirrored in probably a sixth of the other Seekers in the club, although each had a different color wing stripe. "Anything else that doesn't make its way to batch mechs?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Skycross, feeling very pleased with himself for no good reason. He finished off his cube, and when Thundercracker pushed the second one toward him, he took it without a second thought. "Probably a lot of things. Thank you, sir."

"Are you off-duty for a while?"

"Yes, sir. My next shift is in ten cycles, actually. Don't worry, sir, I will be completely sober by that time." Skycross laughed a little. He could tell that he was getting very drunk, but the stuff Thundercracker had bought him tasted so wonderful that he just couldn't stop.

"Oh, I wasn't worried about that," said Thundercracker. "I've never heard anything but good things about this base."

"Streak was sure you were looking for contraband," said Skycross, and only after he said it did it occur to him that maybe he shouldn't have brought that up.

But Thundercracker just laughed gently. "Why would I do that? What kind of contraband do you have to find?"

"None, sir!" Skycross was not too drunk to see where _that_ question was going. "We're a clean unit, I swear, sir."

"Then why would you think that's what I was after?"

The energon swimming through his systems made it hard for Skycross to find a good answer for that. What _had_ made Streak say that, anyway? Oh, yeah ... he remembered now. "Well, sir, you know what they say about batch mechs."

"I do?" Thundercracker took a sip from his own cube.

"Well ..." Skycross thought _everybody_ knew. "Uh ..."

"Come on. What do they say? Do you want another?"

Skycross looked down at his cube, and realized that it was nearly empty. He knocked back the last of it and said, "Sir, I can't ..."

"Sure you can." Thundercracker raised his hand again.

"Oh, sir, I'm getting _really_ drunk." Skycross laughed, and the laugh was more like a giggle.

"What are you saying, you're adorable." Thundercracker smiled warmly, and when the energon arrived he pushed one in front of Skycross; the other one, however, he kept for himself this time. "What do they say about batch mechs?"

"Uh ..." Well, with the energon _directly in front of him,_ Skycross could hardly turn it down. That would be _rude._ He took a long sip, and then said, "Uh, that we're just drones with sparks. That we can't be trusted, because we didn't pick being here. Uh ... that we're half a klik away from going over to the Autobots. But we're not, sir! Everyone in my unit is _completely_ loyal! Hail Megatron!"

"I wouldn't say things like that about you," said Thundercracker, watching Skycross over the rim of his cube as he took a sip. "Every Decepticon is an important asset. Megatron doesn't think poorly of batch mechs. Do you think he would have gone to such lengths to have you all sparked if he did?"

"I ... guess not," said Skycross, to whom this line of thought had not occurred. It made sense, though ... why would Megatron fight tooth and nail to take Vector Sigma, only to despise the mechs that he was able to spark once he had control of the supercomputer? No, Megatron wouldn't do that. The thought warmed Skycross, and he grinned. "You're nothing like what I expected, sir."

Thundercracker returned the smile with one of his own. "What did you expect?"

"I don't know. A lot of the officers are real distant, if you know what I mean. They don't want to mess around with us. But you're so nice." Only after he'd said this did it trickle down through his processors what Thundercracker had said, much earlier. "I'm adorable?" What did that mean? How should he take that?

"Bad choice of words," said Thundercracker, but he was still smiling. He lifted a hand to Skycross's wing, took a hold of the tip and turned it so that he could check the stripe. "What color is this? It's hard to see."

"Purple, sir." Why was he asking _that?_ The gentle touch on his wingtip felt intensely, surprisingly good, charging through the buzz of energon in his circuits.

"Ahh, I see it now. I like it."

Thundercracker didn't release Skycross's wing, though, and Skycross wasn't sure what, if anything, he should do about that. And what did that mean, he liked the color? It wasn't as though Skycross had chosen it.

When Thundercracker's thumb stroked gently down his wingtip, setting off the finely-calibrated vortex sensors, Skycross almost moaned. It felt so _good._ Really, unexpectedly good. Nobody had ever touched him like that before. That this was an officer - not only an officer, but an officer in Megatron's inner circle, light-years above him - crossed his processor, but he couldn't formulate a proper response.

"I shouldn't have said adorable," said Thundercracker. "I should have said incredibly sexy."

"Uh ..." Was anyone seeing this? Did anybody care? A mechanometer away, Decepticons danced, but Skycross couldn't look away from Thundercracker's face. What should he do? What should he say? "Thanks?"

Thundercracker leaned closer, dropped his voice a little, so that Skycross had to lean in as well to hear him. "Come into the back with me," he said.

"The back?" Stupid with intoxication, Skycross wondered what was in the back of the club. Thundercracker was still petting his wingtip and it was really sparking his circuitry, making it hard to think; Skycross felt his temperature rising. Was this what he thought it was?

"Come on."

Thundercracker rose, not releasing Skycross's wingtip, and Skycross felt obliged to stand up as well. He tripped over his chair, he was so drunk, but Thundercracker caught his arm with easy grace and kept him from falling on his face.

Pulled by the wing, Skycross followed the officer to a door in the rear of the club; he'd seen it before, but had never given it a second thought, assuming it led into a cleaning area or something. It didn't. It led into a dark hallway, lined with doors, some of which were open and some closed. The music was muffled as soon as the hall door shut, drumming through the floor and walls.

Nervousness was starting to filter its way through Skycross's intoxication. No question what was going on here; if this went much further, Thundercracker was going to find out ... things that Skycross didn't want him to know. "Ah, sir," he said, and Thundercracker paused next to an open door. "Wait."

"Second thoughts?" asked the officer, with a little half-smile.

Wanting to be smooth, wanting to be sophisticated, Skycross tried to gather his wits and ended up just staring at Thundercracker. After a moment Thundercracker began to stroke his wingtip again, and Skycross moaned aloud. Who knew that such a tiny motion across the correct sensor nodes could make every wire in his body feel like he'd just taken a lightning hit? His internal heat level reached a threshold, and his ventilation fans kicked in.

"Come on," said Thundercracker.

"Is ... is this an order, sir?" Skycross was having trouble keeping his balance, between the energon and the _devastatingly_ intense touch on his wingtip, and he had no idea what to do. He'd never encountered a more desirable Seeker, and interfacing with Thundercracker couldn't do his career anything but good, but still ... _still._

"No, of course not." Thundercracker's touch lightened, enough that Skycross could have easily pulled free. "I thought I wanted to be alone but I've changed my mind. That's all. If you want to go, go. I'd rather you stayed."

Somehow, that freedom of choice paralyzed Skycross, and when Thundercracker gave his wing another gentle tug, he fell across the threshold of the doorway with the powerful officer.

The door shut behind him and Thundercracker immediately pushed him up against it. "You're so gorgeous," said Thundercracker, hands sliding up Skycross's thighs, slipping expertly into the tiny gaps in the armor at his hip joints. "I've always had a thing for black Seekers." Had his voice deepened a little, into that sensual rumble, or had it always been like that and Skycross was only now noticing?

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, not knowing what else to say. The energon and the sudden, intimate touch conspired to rob him of what little self-possession he'd managed to gather. One of Thundercracker's fingertips touched something, _something,_ beneath his pelvic armor, and Skycross groaned with arousal.

What should he be doing? He had _no idea._ He only knew that he should be doing _something,_ touching back or something, but as he was trying to coordinate his hands Thundercracker stroked down the top edges of his wings, and all he could do was moan and prop his arms up onto the officer's shoulders.

Tilting back his head against the closed door and offlining his optics turned out to be a mistake; time seemed to slow down, or maybe speed up, he couldn't tell. Thundercracker was touching him _everywhere,_ up his instrumentation canopy, down the fronts of his wings, across his thighs and hips. Squirming with pleasure and desire, so drunk he could barely keep his balance or tell up from down, Skycross could only moan, "Yes," whenever Thundercracker hit a sensitive spot, which was _often._

As Skycross was starting to writhe, Thundercracker pressed himself close and murmured, "Is this your way of asking to jack in?" There was a note of amusement beneath his words.

Skycross was so drunk, and so aroused, that before he could catch himself and pretend that he knew what he was doing, he said, "What's that mean?"

"What's that ..." Thundercracker trailed off, and his hands went still on Skycross's hips.

Realizing, too late, what he'd done, Skycross flipped his optics back on, and found Thundercracker giving him an thoughtful look. Frag it, _frag it._ "I mean, uh ..." Should he say yes? Or no? Which would be better? His processor seemed to lock up ... why had he let himself get so drunk? Why was he even in this situation? Skycross squirmed a little, restless with arousal and excess heat, and now burning with shame.

"You've never done this before, have you?" asked Thundercracker.

Slag it. _Slag it._ "Yeah," said Skycross, hoping he could sound convincing, but he didn't have enough wits about him to tell if he was successful. Was that even the right thing to say? "Of, of course I have."

_Horrors._ Thundercracker didn't seem to buy it, still giving Skycross that unreadable look. Any second now he was going to start laughing or something, or worse, although Skycross couldn't really think what could be worse than that. Telling everyone maybe.

"Of course I have," said Skycross again. "Lots of times. With all kinds of mechs."

That little smile touched the corner of Thundercracker's mouth again, but it was not unkind, and he didn't laugh. "Come here. Come on."

Skycross hadn't really gotten a look at the room they were in before Thundercracker had begun molesting him; he looked at it now, but his intoxication made it blurry. A berth, a low table with a mostly-empty cube of energon on it, a second cube knocked over on the floor. Thundercracker pushed him down onto the berth, and Skycross almost fell across it.

Thundercracker, he saw now, in the slightly better lighting of the small room, was blue. A deep, glossy blue, with a beautiful metallic undertone that made him glitter a little, the kind of expensive blue reserved for the high ranks. Oh, and _this_ mech wanted to interface with _Skycross?_

"That is incredibly sexy," said Thundercracker, crawling atop Skycross and sitting astride his thighs. "I've never had a virgin before."

"No?" asked Skycross, and again realized too late that he'd just admitted to having never interfaced. He reached up, rested his hands on the officer's hips. He was so drunk ... more than drunk enough to fall into recharge if he wasn't careful, and if he wasn't so _fragging turned on._ The berth under his back hummed with vibrations from the music from the main room, and some part of Skycross buzzed a bit from the whirring of his own fans.

"No." Black fingertips slid down his instrumentation canopy, eliciting a low, involuntary moan from Skycross. "Have you ever overloaded yourself?"

Skycross slowly shook his head, too drunk to think about lying until he'd already done it. Thundercracker wasn't laughing at him, wasn't mocking him or speculating that he was just a loser who couldn't get laid. If anything, the officer's red optics betrayed only increased lust. What sense did that make? Was it supposed to make sense? Because it didn't.

"So I get to see your first overload." Another, slower stroke up Skycross's canopy, Thundercracker's fingertips sweeping strongly up the seals. Skycross shivered, groaning, and the groan was echoed by Thundercracker. "I'm sorry I was going so fast before. Just relax. I want to blow your mind."

Blow his mind? Skycross felt his mind was already pretty blown just by how _hot_ and _charged_ he was. His ventilation fans were threatening to shake themselves off their bearings, and he was getting a warning in his display, that he was overheating. But he couldn't have moved if he'd tried; Thundercracker's heavy but gentle touch bolted him down to the berth.

"Shut your optics back off."

Skycross obeyed, and time seemed to slide out of sync again. Thundercracker's hands moved across Skycross's chest, over his wings, into slight gaps in his armor to brush against receptors that Skycross hadn't even known he _had._ On his back and nearly incapacitated by the energon in his system, Skycross felt tension coiling up inside him, heat building, and a restless, twitching feeling that was both pleasurable and almost unbearable at the same time. Thundercracker's weight held him down, and when Skycross made an awkward attempt to grope at the officer's chassis, Thundercracker just pushed his hands to the side. Skycross didn't try again.

It felt so fragging good, and he was so drunk and so aroused that it felt completely natural to lay still and just _feel,_ but presently Skycross got another overheat warning, one that he felt he ought to heed. "S-sir ..." he murmured.

"Shh. Just relax. Primus, you're beautiful."

"But ..." What was the problem again? Being as drunk as he was, it was easy to forget. Oh, yes. "Sir ... overheating ..."

"That's normal, ignore the warning. Just relax."

How could he relax when he was so wound up, so full of this pleasant energy? It was as though he could barely feel the berth under his back. A hand went down Skycross's wing, then took a careful hold on the sensor array on the tip and slowly squeezed. Skycross moaned, and then jerked and twisted when the squeeze tightened further, the sensor nodes' shrill protest at this treatment intensely, intensely pleasurable. He clutched and scrabbled at Thundercracker's hips, and then almost screamed when the officer's other hand closed over his other wingtip.

"Come on," whispered Thundercracker. "I want to see it."

The pressure increased, until it was almost painful, and then Thundercracker did something that set all the sensors off at once, and Skycross _did_ scream then, as the overwhelming charge in his circuitry seemed to _snap_ and ripped through his processors like a wall of flame.

He might have fallen offline briefly; it certainly felt like it, although it couldn't have been too long because Thundercracker's hands were still on his wingtips. He rose back to consciousness slowly, relaxed and suffused with pleasure, and then he moaned as his wingtips were slowly stroked. The receptor nodes were incredibly sensitive, and Skycross squirmed as a pleasure that was almost _too_ intense fed up through his wings from the petting.

_That_ was an overload? No wonder the other Decepticons chased after them so intently. Skycross, his processors swimming in pleasure and energon, really wanted to feel that again. Preferably soon.

Switching on his optics, he looked up at Thundercracker, who was giving him the hungriest look that he'd ever seen on a mech outside battle. Skycross writhed a little, trapped under the officer's weight; the berth beneath him tapped out the rhythm of the music from the other room.

"Sir ..." he ventured, unsteadily.

"Oh, yes," said Thundercracker, and his voice was that low rumble again. Primus, Skycross could definitely get used to hearing that; the officer's voice seemed to crawl inside his audioceptors and caress something inside his head. "You are all mine. Don't get too relaxed, I'm not done with you yet."

The words spiked Skycross's latent arousal. "Please don't be done with me yet, sir," he moaned.

Thundercracker did laugh then, but it was a warm, rich laugh, and Skycross loved the sound of it. "I'm certainly not."

Skycross hadn't cooled down much, and a little manipulation of his wings and the canopy down his chest was all it took to get him warmed back up and set him squirming again, wanting, yearning. Thundercracker took one of Skycross's hands and placed it onto his own chassis, just below his own canopy where his waist narrowed down. Beneath the shimmering paint, Skycross felt the other Seeker's engines running, fast and hot enough to raise his surface temperature.

"Feel that?" asked Thundercracker. "Feel how much I want you?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. He wanted another overload, badly and immediately, but through the haze of energon he suddenly realized that Thundercracker probably wanted to overload as well. As soon as it struck him, the thought intimidated him; how was he supposed to do that? Worse, how could he make it _good?_ He was so drunk and distracted, could barely put two sentences together.

Fortunately he wasn't given much time to worry about it. "By the time I let you out of here, I want you _thoroughly_ deflowered," said Thundercracker. "You are so sexy, and the fact that you've never done this before just makes you sexier. How'd that happen, anyway?"

"Uh, well ... I just never got around to it." Stupid thing to say, in retrospect, but Skycross was too hammered to care that he sounded like an idiot. He wanted more.

"Never _got around to it?"_ Thundercracker's grin widened, but he didn't laugh. Instead he began to trail his fingertips up Skycross's chest, and over the rims of his air inlets.

"Well, uh ..." Primus, that felt good. Why did that feel so good? Skycross flexed his shoulders. "I never found anyone I wanted to interface with, and then, uh, it got to a point where I just, you know ... oh, that feels so good."

"You didn't want to admit it," murmured Thundercracker.

Yanked back onto his train of thought, Skycross said, "Uh ... right."

"I see. But you wanted me."

"Oh, yes, sir," said Skycross, sincere in his drunkenness. "I mean, that's not what I intended when I came over to talk to you, but, oh, yes, sir, you are _so_ sleek and famous and powerful and Primus, am I really here?" It suddenly struck him that this was a little implausible. His first interface partner was _Thundercracker._ Maybe this was just some kind of inebriated fantasy.

"Yes, you're really here," said Thundercracker, amusement lacing his tone, but although Skycross had a mortal loathing of being laughed at, the officer's humor seemed to be internalized, rather than directed his way. It was so funny, in a way, how Thundercracker could find _him_ so funny, and yet Skycross didn't mind.

That thought amused him for a few moments. "You're not laughing at me," said Skycross eventually.

Thundercracker's smile broadened. "Why would I laugh at you? I _want_ you. You're incredibly sexy, and ... untouched." His engines rumbled a little, making Skycross shiver with desire from the sensation. "It's so hard to believe I've found a virgin. You have no idea how hot that makes you."

Skycross had always thought it made him a joke, so the idea that he was somehow more attractive for being inexperienced was new to him, and it was having a hard time sinking in; lubricated by the energon, his processors kept skipping over it. "Uh ... I guess I don't." Then he moaned again, as Thundercracker's fingers began to dip into his air inlets, stroking over the airflow sensors. He slid his hands up the officer's flanks, but he felt so heavy and it was hard to formulate a course of action. "What ... what should I be doing?"

"You should be laying where you are," said Thundercracker gently. "And letting me take care of you. You're so beautiful."

As much as Skycross wanted to do that, just let those skillful hands lead him into another overload, that desire coexisted with the knowledge that Thundercracker would want the same thing. "But ... but, sir, what about ...?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm going to have my way with you soon enough. Right now I just want to watch you overload again and know that I did that to you. Don't hide anything from me, okay?"

"Okay." What else could he say? What did that even _mean?_ Thundercracker's fingertips were gliding down the tops of his wings, plucking at the joints of his ailerons as they passed, and Skycross groaned.

"Shut off your optics again."

His next overload at Thundercracker's hands came more slowly, a wave of liquid sensuality orchestrated by careful, precise stimulation to places that Skycross had never dreamed could feel such pleasure. Forcing his ailerons to flex, touching the receptor nodes inside his hips and shoulders, and the canopy seals that kept his instrumentation protected from grit and weather ... he was so intoxicated that each sensation seemed to flow into the next, his sensor webs singing even after Thundercracker's fingers moved on. The thrumming of the berth under his back seemed almost like another set of hands beneath him.

When Skycross was almost to overload, Thundercracker diverted for a kilk or two, stroking his face while he writhed and murmured soft pleas, only resuming again when Skycross had cooled a little and had to be brought back up. Then he did it again, and a third time, and Skycross clawed at Thundercracker's arms and cried because he was too drunk and too crazy with need to formulate words.

"So beautiful," whispered Thundercracker. "Show me." And this time, when Skycross's back began to arch, there was no diversion, and Skycross cried out again as that built-up charge gradually crested and washed through him.

He definitely went offline after that one, and probably would have stayed that way for a while if Thundercracker hadn't called his name and tapped his cheek. "Oh, Primus," said Skycross as soon as his vocalizer was working. He raised his hand, blind, and groped across Thundercracker's chest. "Oh, Primus, oh." He let his hand fall off to the side; keeping it up against Thundercracker's chassis was so much work, and he felt so _good._ He felt like he was floating through space, like his gyros were broken or something.

"Oh, that felt so ..." he said finally, stumbling at that point because he couldn't find the words. "I am so drunk."

"You certainly are," said Thundercracker. "Come on, don't fall into recharge on me. I'm not finished with you."

It was hard, but Skycross brought his optics back online, looking up at this officer who had been so kind to him, and made him feel so ... _so._ And who hadn't yet overloaded, either. Swinging his hand upward again, artless, Skycross splayed his fingers across Thundercracker's canopy and said, "What can I do?"

"Open your linkage panel," said Thundercracker.

That woke Skycross up a little. "What?"

"I told you, I want you thoroughly deflowered," said Thundercracker, letting his fingers glide over the panel next to Skycross's canopy. "I want to know that your first was _me,_ in all ways. I want to leave my mark on you. Come on, open it."

Although linking up to various kinds of hardware was normal procedure for a lot of purposes, Skycross nevertheless felt a little shy as he clumsily retracted his panel under Thundercracker's gaze. He didn't know why because there was nothing under it but the standard terminals, the same thing every mech had. He only knew that when the panel was open and Thundercracker was pressing his fingers against the linkages, it was for some reason more intimate than having those same fingers inside his pelvic armor. It also felt really good to be touched there, way better than it had any right to feel.

When Thundercracker pulled out both of their cords and started to attach all the leads, Skycross realized, a little dimly, that this was what the officer had meant earlier when he'd asked if Skycross wanted to jack in. He'd never jacked into another mech before, and never had another mech jack into him. It made him nervous.

Once everything was hooked up, though, it felt ... surprisingly not like much. Initially it felt exactly like synchronizing with the base mainframe, as his system and Thundercracker's exchanged transfer protocols and handshakes, and then the circuit closed and there was a soft flow of carrier current, pleasurable but nothing like what Skycross had felt when Thundercracker had squeezed his wingtips.

Thundercracker was looking down at him expectantly, and Skycross had no idea what to do or say. Slowly he lifted his hand, traced his fingers down the officer's shoulder, taken again by the drunken notion that this could not possibly be happening.

"This is just unreal," he murmured.

"It's real," said Thundercracker with that little smile. "There we go. Okay."

Skycross could not tell what had prompted that last part. "What do I do?" he asked. It no longer felt weird or embarrassing to admit that he was clueless, and he no longer had any fear of mocking laughter.

"Hmmm," said Thundercracker, and then Skycross gasped as something passed through the link, brushing against his firewalls. Some kind of feedback through the interface, a pattern of data that felt like a wave of lust. Abruptly aroused again, Skycross moaned, wanting, _needing._

"That's it," said Thundercracker. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes." He wanted to pull Thundercracker down on top of him, press their chassis together, rub and writhe in a way he'd never wanted to before this. What _was_ that?

Thundercracker obliged Skycross's pawing by lowering himself a little and letting the younger Seeker cling to him. "What you do," he murmured, as Skycross was struck by another wave of that inexplicable, powerful lust, "is sort of the same thing as when you upload your debriefing report, but I'm not interested in what you did on your last mission. Instead of what you _did,_ upload what you _feel._ What you _want._ Right now."

Upload what he felt? How? Skycross had trouble understanding, and didn't know if it was because he was drunk, or if it was because those words just made no sense when strung together that way ... how he uploaded his debriefing reports? That involved packaging and compressing the data, but that couldn't be right. What good would that do?

"Create a data stream," whispered Thundercracker. "How much do you want to overload?"

"A _lot,"_ moaned Skycross, squirming as another of those surges of pleasure and desire went through him.

"Show me. Separate it out and stream it into the interface. Oh, you're so beautiful. I can't believe I'm the first one to get to you."

Reflecting absently that this probably would have been a lot easier if he'd been sober and maybe not so desperately aroused, Skycross tried to pay attention and do as he was told. Like uploading a report, but not really ... not a discrete package of data, but rather an ongoing stream. It was a difficult idea to grasp, made even more difficult by those recurring waves of pleasure and lust. They crashed through his processors and engulfed him, left him writhing, his already-tenuous concentration broken. What was _doing_ that?

It was so difficult ... he could barely think. "Primus," he moaned, almost whimpering with frustration. If he didn't do this right, Thundercracker was going to hate him.

"Hey," said Thundercracker, nuzzling one of Skycross's air inlets. "Take it easy. Take your time."

"I don't know what I'm doing," said Skycross, miserable for a moment until he was washed again in that squirming lust.

"I know," said Thundercracker. "It's okay. We have plenty of time. You'll get it." The desire that wracked through Skycross deepened, with an undercurrent of patient reassurance.

Suddenly, stupidly, it dawned on Skycross that what Thundercracker wanted him to do was what the officer was already doing to _him._ The lust was coming from _Thundercracker._ He felt so idiotic for not knowing this immediately. Where else would it be coming from? He was so stupid.

Once he knew that, though, he was able to analyze the data stream being fed to him from Thundercracker, a task made slow and uncertain by his intoxication and by the way Thundercracker kept nuzzling him; gradually, gropingly, drunkenly, he was able to understand how it was constructed so that he could construct one of his own. A direct feed, streaming data, sourced from his own body, the tension in his circuits, the heat from his spark.

When he connected the new data stream up to the interface carrier, it was with clumsy hesitation, not knowing if he was doing it right or how Thundercracker would take it. The officer went still, the motion of his mouth on Skycross's air inlet ceasing.

"That's it," Thundercracker murmured. "That's right." The lust being fed to Skycross swelled, and Skycross moaned. "Show me. What does that do to you?"

What did it _do_ to him? It made him _burn_ with heat and desire, that was what it did to him. Belatedly, Skycross realized that that was exactly what Thundercracker wanted, and he allowed that raw desire to feed back into the interface. Next to his audioceptor, Thundercracker let out a soft, broken groan.

"Yes," whispered Thundercracker. "More." The next influx of lust from the officer was powerful and hard; Skycross arched as it went through him, and then he channeled it back into the interface to make Thundercracker moan again.

With murmured encouragement, Thundercracker coaxed Skycross into broadening the feed until virtually everything that Skycross experienced was going back into the interface. Each height of arousal built atop the last in a positive feedback loop, until Skycross was almost blind from it, and Thundercracker was pressed so hard against him that it was a wonder nothing got broken. Skycross began to thrash a little, his body twisting, and the heavier officer constrained him and held him down by his wrists; it felt so good to struggle and _pull_ that way, against the resistance. Skycross's audioceptors were full of Thundercracker's shattered moans.

When he overloaded this time it was like coming to the top of a great arc of height and transitioning from flight to fall, the heat and charge in his circuitry coming inevitably to a point of no return, and then washing out in a long, ecstatic zenith. He felt Thundercracker overloading with him, and against him, falling alongside him, and then the backwash from Thundercracker overwhelmed him, and his processors whited out.

Skycross came back online an unknown amount of time later, still overheated and with Thundercracker slowly stroking down his chest. He felt like he could recharge for an orn straight, and just lay still, flat on his back, his arms out atop the flats of his wings, drifting in pleasure and intoxication. It was like being wrapped in a foam bubble, and he felt like he was slowly spinning.

"Mmmm." Thundercracker passed his hand over Skycross's instrumentation canopy. "I know you're awake."

"Mmmm-hmmm." Oh, that felt so good, down his canopy.

"You ready for another?" asked Thundercracker, his tone deep and lazy.

That made Skycross switch his optics on, although it took a moment to sort them out. One corner of Thundercracker's mouth was quirked upward.

"What?" _Again?_ Still drunk, Skycross was nevertheless afraid that this sustained overheating and all the overloads were going to damage him in some way; his body, however, had no concerns, and roused immediately at the suggestion, wanting more. The interface connection was still open, and Thundercracker's optics flickered as the feed from Skycross betrayed his weary arousal.

"That's right," said Thundercracker, with a smile, and one hand drifted out across Skycross's wing. "Primus, how did they make you so beautiful?"

"I don't know," said Skycross. Thundercracker kept saying things like that, but Skycross thought he looked pretty much the same as any other black-painted batch Seeker. The only difference between himself and Streak, for instance, was that Streak's wing stripes were yellow.

There must have been something to it, though, because the return feed from Thundercracker was flush with affectionate desire, which fluctuated and intensified as Thundercracker looked him over. Skycross squirmed a little, the officer's scrutiny almost as much of a turn-on as the direct feedback.

Thundercracker stroked Skycross's wing with the backs of his fingers. "I want you to do something for me," he said, and Skycross nodded, ready to do anything for this mech. Fight, kill, die, it didn't matter. "Raise your hands."

Was that all? A little disappointed that he wasn't going to be asked to die, Skycross obeyed; it was a lot of effort to get his hands up into the air, though, and hold them there. Thundercracker took one hand by the wrist and pulled it up to his own wingtip. "Grab there," he said, "just like I did with you before."

The recent past was somewhat blurry, but after a little effort Skycross was able to remember what Thundercracker had done to him earlier. He closed his fingers around the officer's wingtip, and then his other hand was directed to Thundercracker's other wingtip; he had to spread his arms wide to reach them both.

"Squeeze hard," murmured Thundercracker, supporting himself over Skycross on his hands and knees once again. When Skycross did, a flash of intense pleasure came through the interface link, and Thundercracker moaned; Skycross couldn't help but moan as well. "Harder."

Again, Skycross obeyed, heat building quickly inside him at the strength of the reflected pleasure, and a third entreaty made him clamp down even more. A part of him wondered if he wasn't maybe hurting Thundercracker, but that part was easily ignored in his drunken rapture; each hard squeeze of his hands was almost immediately rewarded with a rush of powerful arousal through the interface loop, and that was enough to make him maul Thundercracker's wingtips.

"Oh, harder," whispered Thundercracker, directly into Skycross's audioceptor, and it was almost a whine. Skycross obeyed, all but crushing the blue Seeker's wingtips, and Thundercracker arched and gave a soft cry, grinding his body against Skycross; the feedback through the interface link was so powerful it made Skycross's vision fuzz with static. It was crazy. To have this decorated officer, this respectable command Decepticon _writhing_ atop him made Skycross once again dizzily wonder if he wasn't just imagining all of this.

But why would he make up something like _this?_

The force of the pleasure coming through the interface link was crazy, _crazy._ Skycross pressed up against Thundercracker each time the blue Seeker pressed down against him, the echoes of the officer's intense pleasure like stabs of current. And when Thundercracker shuddered and spasmed in overload, Skycross was struck down by the resonation.

How long he was offline this time, he didn't know; it was long enough for Thundercracker's weight to no longer be on him when he finally roused. Feeling incredibly good, incredibly exhausted, and still quite drunk, Skycross sorted lazily through programs until he found the switch for his optics.

Thundercracker was sitting up on the edge of the berth next to him, the interface disconnected. He didn't immediately notice that Skycross was online again, and so Skycross had a klik or two during which he was able to hazily observe the mech unawares; the officer was looking off into space in the general direction of the floor, unfocused, and there was no smile touching his mouth now. He had the same kind of expression, in fact, as when Skycross had first seen him across the room in the bar outside, a sort of melancholy, directed nowhere in particular.

Skycross didn't understand it. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Hmmm?" The smile returned in an instant, and Thundercracker glanced Skycross's way. "Why are you sorry?"

It took a moment for Skycross to gather his thoughts together into a conveyable format. "That was ... really, really good," he said. "But it kind of sucked for you, didn't it?"

"What?" Thundercracker slid a hand up Skycross's leg. "Don't be ridiculous. I really enjoyed you. I sort of wish I hadn't gotten you quite this drunk, but it doesn't matter, that was my fault."

"... really?" Skycross wanted to believe it. "It didn't suck?"

"Of course not. Why would you think otherwise?"

Because he had started this not having any clue what to do. Because he _still_ didn't know what to do. Because Thundercracker had looked so sad a moment ago. "I dunno," said Skycross.

Thundercracker patted his leg. "I'm going to head out now, but don't feel like you need to go anywhere until you're ready. When you do, go back to your dorm and get some recharge, okay?"

"Huh?" Skycross generally recharged right before he went back on duty. That was what everybody did. "My shift isn't for ten cycles, though."

"No," said Thundercracker. "It's in five."

Shock washed a little of the drunkenness out of Skycross. _Five?_ Had he really been interfacing with Thundercracker _that_ long? When he checked his chronometer, though, he saw that the time was exactly what he'd expected it to be, and his shift was still ... well, okay, a little more than nine cycles off, not ten, but still. A long time.

"What?" he said, sounding a little stupid even to himself.

"Just trust me," said Thundercracker. "Five. Go get some recharge. Consider it an order."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, reacting automatically to the tone of command in Thundercracker's words.

A final pat on the leg, and Thundercracker rose. "I'm glad I met you," he said. "I really didn't want to be alone. So thank you." Then he left, sliding out the door without another word.

Skycross watched him go, and then flopped onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, which seemed to keep trying to start spinning. What did that mean, five cycles? After some thought, he decided it didn't matter. Thundercracker had said it was an order, and Skycross was used to having his schedule changed arbitrarily on short notice. It hardly mattered that the change was coming from Thundercracker rather than Redline.

That settled, he let himself drift a bit, just enjoying the heavy exhaustion for a little while. Thundercracker had been so considerate, so _unlike_ all the other officers on base. And he'd made Skycross feel really, really, really good. He still felt good. _Primus,_ did he feel good.

And ... his first interface had been with _Thundercracker._ What kind of luck was that? _Thundercracker._ Streak was going to be insanely jealous; _his_ first interface had been with one of other batch mechs in the next dorm.

Except, Skycross realized dimly, he couldn't say that. "Frag," he murmured to himself. That would give away that he'd never interfaced before. Skycross had told Streak that he'd lost his virginity long ago with one of the camp followers on the lower levels, and if he bragged about his first being Thundercracker, Streak would know that he'd lied.

He couldn't tell _anyone._ About interfacing with Thundercracker, sure, but not about Thundercracker having been his first.

That was so unfair. The most brag-worthy thing to ever happen to him, and he couldn't tell _anyone._

"Frag," he murmured again, and draped one arm over his face.


	2. part two

_five million years - part 2_

Skycross was never so happy to have obeyed a command as when he was rousted from his berth five cycles too early by the all-assemble bugle. Most of his bunkmates had gone into recharge less than a cycle earlier, and groaned mightily at having to be up again; a few still seemed to be drunk. Skycross, having gotten almost five cycles of recharge, felt reasonably well-rested, and sober besides.

It gave him pause, though, as he and his bunkmates staggered out of the dorm and began to drag their way through the base to the staging ground. Thundercracker had known that this was going to happen. This had been planned. And yet none of the batch mechs had been told ahead of time, except him.

"This sucks," said Streak, coming up alongside Skycross as they crossed the quad. "I got barely any time down at all. What's going on?"

"I don't know," said Skycross.

Streak gave him an annoyed scowl. "That's slag. _You_ knew to recharge early."

"Really, I don't know. Thundercracker told me to go back to the dorm early, so I did. He didn't say _why."_

"Slag," said Streak, but there was no energy behind it. They walked for a klik or so in silence, and then Streak brightened a little. "So how was he?"

"Hmmm." Skycross took a moment to savor the memory. He had no other experience to compare against Thundercracker, but he felt confident saying, "Really, really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Thinking about it brought a sensory echo to Skycross's spark, the feel of Thundercracker's hands on his wings, the low rumble of his voice. "Primus, I'd take him again any time."

"You could only be so lucky," said Streak with a laugh. "You'll never get his like again."

"You never know." Skycross couldn't really argue, because Streak was probably right - Thundercracker had his choice of mechs, and now that Skycross was no longer a virgin he had nothing to interest such a desirable officer. But the idea of never interfacing with Thundercracker again left him with an odd feeling. He had no idea what interfacing with a mech his own rank would be like, but he doubted it would be anywhere near as enjoyable.

"Yeah, maybe," said Streak. "I wouldn't have figured he'd sully himself with one of us in the first place, but I guess miracles happen." Streak laughed to himself. "He was probably slumming, or he's got a fetish."

"He's not like that." Skycross gave Streak a hard punch in the shoulder, sending his not-quite-sober friend staggering. "He told me that Megatron doesn't look down on us like the other regular Decepticons do. And neither does he."

The look that Streak gave him was full of fake hurt. "You hit me."

"I'll do it again if you say that again."

"Only because you know I'm right."

They arrived at the staging ground then, coming out from between the two comm towers, and Skycross decided that it wasn't worth continuing to squabble in front of the whole base. The staging ground was the largest open space on the base, huge and flat, free air up to the star-speckled sky. It was generally used to organize strike forces or training groups, but now it was packed with mechs as the entire base assembled, and the reviewing stand had been set up at one end.

As Skycross and Streak stepped into their spots in the formation, Skycross saw that four mechs stood on the reviewing stand. One was the base commander, Charnel, and behind him were two of his aides.

The fourth was Thundercracker.

Skycross could feel his spark stirring inside him.

"There he is," said Streak, unnecessarily.

_"Attention!"_ barked Stormwhip, one of Charnel's aides, and the last stragglers hurried into formation as the murmuring on the staging ground ceased and all optics turned to the reviewing stand.

Skycross expected Charnel to say something, perhaps introduce the foreign officer or explain what he was doing on base, but it was Thundercracker himself who stepped forward.

"My designation is Thundercracker," he said, his voice amplified to carry across the thousand assembled Decepticons. "For those of you who are unaware, I am a part of Lord Megatron's elite aerial guard. It is in Lord Megatron's name that I am here."

He paused a moment. "I know that some of you have heard a rumor, about Vos. I am here to tell you that it's true. Last orn, Vos was destroyed."

_What?_ Skycross stared at the reviewing stand as a ripple of sound moved over the assembled mechs. Vos? A whole city? He'd heard nothing about this.

"How?" whispered Streak beside him, disbelief staining the word.

"The Senate," said Thundercracker, raising his voice again, "has murdered the Decepticon High Command. _Murdered._ From the generals' dead processors, the Senate wrested the command codes for the Decepticon weapons outposts, and launched an attack against Vos. _Against Vos!"_

He raised his fist, and another murmur rippled across the assembled Decepticons. "Citybreakers were launched against Vos! Weapons meant to defend Cybertron, to annihilate alien species that threaten us, were deployed against _Decepticons!_ Autobot forces surrounded the city with missile emplacements, and slaughtered all those who attempted to escape as death rained down from the sky! Vos has been annihilated. I flew over it myself, three megacycles ago. The city has been melted and collapsed, and its citizens entombed within it. None have survived. None. No prisoners were taken. None were permitted to escape."

Had it been anyone but Thundercracker saying this, Skycross was sure he wouldn't have believed it. A whole city? Destroyed? And Vos! He'd only been to Vos twice, but he still considered it his home. The Aerie, gone? The market in the lower levels?

That cute Constructicon who sold him a weapons upgrade, and then helped him install it?

It was as though something inside him, some component he'd taken for granted and never thought about much, had suddenly been ripped away.

Thundercracker lowered his fist, and the whispering across the staging ground again ceased. "This was the action of an enemy species!" he said, his voice hard. "This was not the action of a race that we can call our brothers! The Autobots say they want peace, but _they do not!_ They want our subjugation! They want us to bend our necks to them and be their slaves! They say they want peace, but only on their terms, only on terms that leave us at their mercy! After this, _there can be no peace!"_

All across the staging ground rose a murmur in response. There could be no peace, not after this. Thousands of Decepticons murdered in their homes without warning or mercy? Unforgivable.

_"There can be no peace!"_ said Thundercracker again.

This time Skycross raised his own voice to echo the commander's words; around him, many other mechs did the same. "There can be no peace!"

_"There can be no peace!"_ said Thundercracker for a third time, and this time the entire formation shouted the words after him. There could be no peace, no compromise, not after this. Not after this.

"The Senate believes that we can be cowed by this atrocity," said Thundercracker. "They believe that we can be frightened into surrender! They believe that we are weak! But we will not permit them to pen us like animals for destruction! _We will fight back!"_

Thundercracker raised his fist, and Skycross raised his own. "We will fight back!" he repeated, his voice lost in the yells of those around him. The sound swelled around him, responding to the officer's words, carrying Skycross with it.

"We will teach them what it means to wage war against the Decepticons! We will teach them what other races have learned to their sorrow! The Decepticons do not surrender! The Decepticons do not fall! The Decepticons are unmatched in the universe! We are built to be weapons of war but we are not wielded by weaklings and cowards! We will not be slaves! We stand on our own and we will prevail!"

The staging ground erupted into cheering, a thousand voices raised together. Skycross pumped his fist up into the air, all but bouncing in place, shouting his own wordless agreement. They were Decepticons! They did not surrender. They did not fall. They would not be cowed. They would not be defeated. The Autobots had no chance! Vos would be avenged!

When some of the shouting died down, Thundercracker continued, "Lord Megatron has ordered retaliatory strikes against the weapons outposts captured by the Senate. We will destroy them utterly, annihilate the citybreakers and the orbital launchers. We will leave the Senate nothing but ruins to turn against us. I will lead the assault, and you, my brothers, will follow me to victory!"

Another cheer rose from Skycross and all the assembled Decepticons, then a louder one when Thundercracker again pushed his fist up into the air. Over the shouting, Thundercracker called, "We launch in five breems! Assemble your wings and gestalts and teams!"

A slap landed on Skycross's shoulder, and he turned to see Streak's brightly-burning optics. "We're going to _slag_ those fraggers!" said Streak.

"You bet we are!" Skycross gave Streak a return slap, and then Redline was shouting to get their attention, so that he could brief the wing on their part in the attack. They were going to make the Autobots pay.

Five breems later, a thousand Decepticons rose into the air in good order, and arrayed across the sky as they flew toward the Eastern Waste Operations Outpost.

* * *

A query ping came across one of the private comm channels; it was from Streak. Skycross opened the channel and sorted out the encryption.

_"I can't believe it,"_ said Streak, without preamble. _"Vos. Gone."_

_"Neither can I."_ Flying at the rear of the formation, behind Redline and between Shear and Darklight, Skycross had been thinking about that since they'd launched. The flight to the outpost was a good cycle or more, so he'd had a lot of time to do it. Some of the excitement had left him, and he'd been angry for a while, but eventually that left, too, and he'd fallen into a sort of empty despondence. Vos. _"I was only there twice."_

_"Then you're two up on me,"_ said Streak. _"I never got a chance to go at all."_ A long silence, and then Streak asked, _"What was it like?"_

_"Vertical,"_ said Skycross. _"It's all towers ..."_ He caught himself. _"... was. Apparently some Autobots used to live there, and there were a few streets for them, and some of the towers had staircases, but most of the city stuck up into the sky and was only accessible from the air. An Autobot wouldn't be able to reach most of it. Probably even the wingless Decepticons would have trouble. Even the lower levels, you could really only reach them by flying down into them."_

_"Was it beautiful? I heard it was."_

Skycross hesitated. _"Yeah,"_ he said, wanting to go into more detail, but knowing that his words couldn't be enough. _"The lights ..."_

_"I wish I'd seen it."_

Destroyed. All of it. The delicate spires, the Aerie atop them, all of the Decepticons that had lived there. It was a hard thing for Skycross to accept, but Thundercracker had said it was so, and he didn't think Thundercracker would lie.

Thundercracker. Unbidden, the memory of Thundercracker's dispirited expression came to Skycross's mind. He'd looked so sad, when he didn't know that Skycross was watching. He must have been to Vos thousands of times. Maybe he'd even been based there for a while. And then he'd seen it in ruins. The beautiful city, smashed.

The more Skycross thought about it, the more anger came back to him.

The primary strategy channel abruptly crackled to life. _"Eight thousand mechanometers,"_ said Charnel. _"Air support, move into formation with your gestalts."_

A navigation ping came across the wing channel from Redline, and Skycross followed it, peeling away from the main body of Decepticons in formation, spiraling downward and throttling back until the wing was just above and behind their assigned gestalt. The six Pyrocons did not acknowledge on any channel Skycross could access, but Redline probably checked in with them.

Thundercracker's voice broke in across the strategy channel. _"Stay at least two hundred mechanometers away from me at all times,"_ he instructed. _"If you're too close to me when I let off a percussive shock, it's going to hurt you a lot, and there're too many of you for me to keep track of you all. So you need to keep an optic on me on your navigation and stay back. Two hundred mechanometers is minimum safe distance."_

_"Is he kidding?"_ asked Streak on the private channel.

_"Why would he be kidding?"_ asked Skycross, scoffing, although he understood Streak's incredulity. The commander's calm directives meant that he would be flying alone; he'd brought no wingmates with him, and his instructions would serve as a warning to all of the base Decepticons to avoid trying to fill that role for him. It made sense - percussive weapons did not differentiate between friend and foe, and only a Seeker who knew Thundercracker very well, and was known in turn, would be able to fight beside the commander without getting caught by Thundercracker's weaponry.

So it made perfect sense, but it still meant that Thundercracker planned to fight alone, without any backup, with no one to watch his stabilizers and bail him out if he got in over his head. Skycross could never have done it, and his spark warmed with the commander's courage.

Closer to the ground now, Skycross kept half a sensor on the cityscape flashing by beneath him, but he detected no activity. Not surprising ... the assemblage of Decepticons had probably been spotted from thousands of mechanometers away, sending any Autobots in the vicinity underground.

It swelled Skycross's pride, that the wrath of the Decepticons could send their enemies scurrying.

Vos would be avenged.

_"Five thousand mechanometers,"_ said Charnel over the strategy channel. _"Prepare for final approach."_

There was a break in the landscape, a gash in the planet that separated the main city from the support town cuddled up close to the outpost's walls. Ahead, across the gash, the dark outpost was starting to come to life; Skycross's warning systems began to detect energy buildup, and the slumbering outpost started to light up with force shields and spotlights. He brought up his battle computer, and let a little of his consciousness sink into the flux of data and projections.

The walls would be the choke point. Some Seeker wings were already starting to climb on Charnel's command, intending to fly over the walls out of range of the defensive cannons and come straight down inside the perimeter, but the big gestalts had neither the speed nor the acceleration necessary to make such a dive; they'd take forever to get high enough into the air, and then be shot down out of the sky by the wall defenses as they came down. Over the tops of the walls, smashing the cannons and covered by wings of batch mechs, was the only way for the gestalts to get inside.

_"Are you sober?"_ Skycross asked Streak.

_"Primus, am I ever."_ Ahead, in the second rank of the wing formation, Skycross could see that Streak was flying straight and steady, but flying straight and steady on approach was different from doing it in combat. _"I'm going to frag me so much Autobot."_

_"This is for Vos,"_ said Skycross.

_"For Vos."_

Just outside the range of the wall guns, the Pyrocons halted and landed, so that they could transform and join into Infernus; Redline pulled his Seeker wing into a tight arc around the gestalt as it assembled.

_"Sir,"_ said Hardpoint, over the wing's comm frequency. _"Autobots below. Should we engage?"_

On the next circuit, Skycross scanned for the Autobots that Hardpoint had spotted: two warm mech bodies disappearing into a building. _"Negative,"_ said Redline. _"They'll be headed underground. Maintain formation."_

_"Frag,"_ said Streak privately to Skycross. _"I want to nail 'em."_

As the wing swept around again the first explosions began, the cannons mounted on the wall starting to fire on the approaching Decepticons. In normal times, the outpost would have been staffed by four or five hundred Decepticons; now it was full of Autobots, and Skycross realized that he had no idea how many. It could have been twenty. It could have been twenty thousand.

Infernus roared, and took off again, flying toward the wall. _"In line,"_ said Redline. _"Double escort."_

The six tetrajets fanned out into a broken line, three on the gestalt's right side and three on his left. Skycross, sliding into the left-side anchor spot, matched his speed to the slow-moving gestalt and looked up at the outpost wall.

The walls were alight with cannon fire, enormous bolts cutting the air. Smaller bolts of return fire harried the cannons: the batch Seeker escorts. As Skycross watched, one Seeker was hit by cannon fire, and fell, spinning and flaming, into the wall; another was cut in half in midair and exploded.

Then two cannons turned toward his group, vast muzzles glowing, and it suddenly hit Skycross that _this_ was what it was like to look death in the face. _This_ was going to be the last thing he saw. _Oh, Primus._

He wasn't going to survive this attack.

_"Split,"_ said Redline, but long before the order came Skycross was already diving sideways, flinching away from the glowing death as it strafed his slot in the formation; another, lower volley sent him upward just as fast.

The cannons turned a bit, firing toward Hardpoint, and Skycross dropped back into formation, cables taut and actuators twitching, ready to flick again in an instant. He could still feel the heat of the shots on his armor.

Just one hit from that would kill him instantly. In the back of his processor, he began a low and fervent prayer. _Primus Below, First of Cybertron, from Whom we all descend ..._

Infernus took a shot straight in the chest, but he was tougher than any Seeker and it only seemed to anger him. He dropped lower, and on Redline's command Skycross's wing rose higher. Cannon fire sliced through their formation as they climbed, and the Seekers split apart to avoid it, coming back together when the firing paused.

_"All right,"_ said Redline. _"Throttle up. Watch the cannons on the right, in case they turn this way. Infernus is going low. Keep those muzzles up and away from him. Stay in your air zones. If two of you collide and by some miracle survive it, I'll kill you myself when we get back to base."_

Skycross didn't even glance at the other battery of cannons ... he couldn't afford to split his concentration. The cannons directly in front of them were firing again, and the wing was flying straight into them. _Greatest of Cybertron, hear Your faithful protector, hear the spark to which You gave life ..._ His battle computer tagged the cannon muzzles, watched their motion, and offered predictions on what angle the next shot would take; the predictions weren't infallible, though, as Skycross quickly learned as an unpredicted bolt almost caught him across the wing. He twitched out of the way by microns, the heat of the cannon fire searing his armor. One of his wingmates was hit and went down, spinning and on fire, screaming in agony.

Sudden drag on Skycross's wings made him realize that his ailerons were shivering; he clamped down his control on them. _See us through Your Holy defense, guard our flight, guide our guns ... Primus, please, I don't want to die._

They were all going to die.

Then, finally, they were in range of their own weapons, and they fanned out further and began to return fire; Skycross's lasers looked so pitiful, thin and pale beside the brilliant cannon fire. It became harder to dodge the shots as they closed the distance, and the cannons were more accurate as the Seekers flew down their throats. Skycross sank deeper into the predictions offered by his battle computer, his whispered prayer continuing in the back of his mind while he put all of his concentration into analyzing and implementing his evasions; doing so kept the fear in the back of his processor, kept the certainty that he wasn't going to survive this battle at bay.

Another of Skycross's wingmates was hit, and went up in flames. The stricken mech didn't make a sound as he broke apart, the pieces careening down and smashing into the ground in showers of red sparks. Skycross's prayer stuttered a little, and then continued. _We place ourselves between You and Your enemies, we offer our lives in Your service ..._

Somewhere off in the distance, a low-frequency beat thrummed, like an explosion.

_"Watch the cannons on the right!"_ said Redline, just as a series of shots pulsed across directly in front of Skycross's nosecone.

Panicked, Skycross cut his engines and deployed his flaps, turning into his slipstream to kill his airspeed by _all means possible_ so that he wouldn't _fly directly into the volley;_ he then tried to dive but fell instead into a stall, his engines out of gear and his flaps out. Another set of shots flashed in front of him; out of control and screaming, Skycross fell directly into them. The light filled his visual display, so bright it hurt, and heat blistered his paint.

Then the light was gone, and cool air rushed over Skycross's armor. The only damage warnings that lit up in his display were trivial ones. He hadn't been hit. The cannon had missed. _Not dead. Not dead._ The pain was superficial. But, his battle computer insisted, he _would_ be dead soon if he didn't get out of this stall. Skycross transformed to get control of his fall before he went nose-first into the ground, straightened himself out, and then, because hanging around near-motionless would be a great way to make an easy target out of himself, he transformed again and shot back up toward his wingmates.

Not dead. He wasn't dead.

He wasn't _going_ to die.

_Primus, guard me, guide me ..._

He was a Decepticon, frag it.

_Keep the muzzles up._ Infernus was coming up from below, so it was important that the Seekers stay high, keep the cannons firing at _them;_ the gestalt could be blown apart if he took enough hits, and then there would be no way to take out the cannon emplacements. One of the cannons off to the side tracked Skycross up, trying to lead him so that he would fly into the shots, but his scrape with death had somehow burned the fear out of him, and left him calmer. The chanting terror in his circuits was gone; he continued to pray but there was no longer a frantic edge on the recited words. He'd _almost_ been hit. He'd _almost_ died. But he _hadn't_ been hit, and he _hadn't_ died. He dipped and swayed in an elaborate evasive pattern as he climbed, throwing off the cannon operator's ability to predict where he'd be a moment later.

He felt like he was in the palm of the god's hand, being lifted back up into the air.

It was almost easy. Skycross laughed as he reached the level on which his wingmates were fighting, and continued climbing. What point was there in trying to fight back against the cannons? They couldn't do much damage to the cannon emplacements, and all they had to do was keep the cannons busy anyway. Making an attack run was pointless. He'd rather dance with the cannon fire.

_"Skycross, get down here,"_ said Redline, ruining Skycross's fun.

_"Yes, sir."_ Skycross bent into an arc, pulling around in a long spiral that would shed some altitude and take him back down to the rest of his wing. He maintained his misleading dips and turns, no longer trying to directly evade the cannon fire, but rather inviting the cannons to try to catch him.

Another low-frequency pulse hummed through the air, closely followed by another.

Skycross rejoined his wing just as the side cannon with which he'd been playing ceased firing on him; he glanced that way to see that one of the gestalts had reached it and was tearing it to pieces. His spark sang. _Primus Below, First of Cybertron ..._

They were going to win this.

They were going to _win_ this.

"For Vos!" he screamed, the wind and his own speed tearing the words away as he dove behind the rest of his wing toward one of the cannons. Below it, he could see Infernus climbing, skimming up the wall. The Seekers fired, ineffectually, on the cannon until the gestalt was able to get to it and rip one of the muzzles clean off the emplacement.

They were going to win this.

"For Vos!" Skycross screamed again, as he followed his wing, at last, over the wall.

* * *

Within the outpost, the chaos was unbelievable. 

The regular Seekers had come down long before the batch mechs and gestalts made it over the wall. Some had either landed or been shot down, and were engaged in hand-to-hand with the defending Autobots; others flew strafing runs against Autobot fortifications inside the walls. Autobots were everywhere, hiding within or behind or under whatever they could find, shooting up and around at the attacking Decepticons, or, when close enough, trying to rip them bodily apart.

Many mechs of both factions lay on the ground, often in pieces. Some lay still, others thrashed in pain. Cannon fire from the undamaged emplacements strobed overhead.

_"Stay on me,"_ said Redline. _"The bombers are at fifteen thousand mechanometers out."_

Skycross's battle computer was busy locating and analyzing combatants on the ground, flagging Autobots whenever they were identifiable as such. He began firing as his wing began a fast sweep over what had once been the barracks; the buildings were completely slagged, but return fire came from the wreckage. Redline led them in a second sweep, and Skycross managed to catch an Autobot in the shoulder with his lasers before the mech ducked down under cover again.

The ground seemed to shake under another of those low-frequency pulses. Aloft as he was, Skycross shouldn't have been affected, but the airflow around him altered as a shockwave went by. Maybe it _was_ an explosion. That should have been a scary thought - if the main ammunition cache or one of the citybreakers were to be detonated while the Decepticons were inside the outpost, it would probably kill them all - but the fear just wasn't there. Skycross had already decided that he was going to fly out of here. Besides, he realized that he'd already heard several of these explosions, and they hadn't blown up the outpost yet.

Redline abruptly transformed and came down atop a broken building, firing straight down with both guns. _"Find something to fight,"_ he told the wing. _"Keep their heads down until the bombers get here. Don't go too far, and stay ready to pull out."_

Obediently, Skycross wheeled away from his wingleader and sent a ping to Streak as he strafed a group of Autobots under cover, and then had to dive out of the way as they had the nerve to shoot back at him. _"Come on,"_ he told his friend. _"Let's kill something."_

There was no response.

_"Streak?"_

Silence.

Skycross took a quick inventory of his wing. There was Redline, with Hardpoint behind him, punching through the top of the building to get at the Autobots inside. Shear was circling away, heading for the outpost staging ground.

And then there was him. That made four.

He'd seen two of his wingmates go down. That made six.

Laser fire winged Skycross's left vertical stabilizer, and he immediately whipped around; it was coming from what looked like it had been the administrative building, constructed against the inside curve of the defensive wall. Skycross lit his afterburners and plowed directly into it, aiming for the window where the shots had originated and transforming just before he hit; he smashed through the broken plexy and directly into a hallway, firing as he went.

The hallway was empty. "Show yourself!" Skycross roared, shooting down the hallway in both directions. Footsteps clicked, hurrying away, but the sounds echoed and Skycross couldn't make a directional on them.

"Cowards!" he said, and ran back out the window. As he leaped out and transformed to fly off, he dropped a cluster bomb; a moment later, the hallway exploded into fire as he soared away.

Frustrated and angry, Skycross scanned for a new target. Redline and Hardpoint were no longer atop the building they'd been attacking, but Skycross couldn't see where they'd gone. Maybe into it, maybe elsewhere.

He wanted to kill something ... but, he realized, not just anything. As Skycross circled higher, he set his sights on the cannon emplacements on the wall. They'd mostly been destroyed by the gestalts, but Skycross could see Autobots up on the wall using the broken emplacements for cover, raining laser fire down into the outpost.

The nearest emplacement had been torn part-way open by whichever gestalt had attacked it, a huge gash ripped into the metal walls of the control room; two Autobots used the shelter offered by that gash to fire on Skycross. _Perfect._

Dipping evasively, Skycross barreled straight into the gap, transforming an instant before impact so that he could make a controlled crash through it and into the emplacement. As before, the Autobots who had been so bold in firing on him when he was far away turned tail and ran as soon as he was right on top of them, vanishing through the back doorway as Skycross filled the control room with laser fire.

_"Cowards!"_ he screamed again. They'd shoot Decepticons down from a thousand mechanometers out, but they hadn't the bearings to look him in the face? He strafed the room again. "Get back out here and die on your feet!"

One of them shot back at him from the shelter of the doorway, but the shot skipped across the armor on Skycross's upper arm, barely singeing him. The room lit up for an instant from brilliant cannon fire somewhere outside, and Skycross saw the Autobot ducking back into the hallway.

He was about to follow, furious to kill something, when his comm link snapped on. _"Bombers are at eight thousand mechanometers,"_ said Redline. _"Get ready to pull out."_

Skycross almost followed the Autobots through the doorway anyway, but remembered that they were going to die whether he personally delivered the coup de grace or not. His objective here was to keep the Autobots feeling under attack, so that they wouldn't suspect that the Decepticons didn't plan on _capturing_ the outpost but rather _destroying_ it; all the Autobots inside it were on borrowed time, death coming to them on the wings of the Decepticon bombers. Still. Knowing that they were going to be melted alive in the explosion that destroyed the outpost was less satisfying than shoving his own lasers between their optics and watching them panic just before he pulled the trigger, and so he almost followed them in.

But no. He might get trapped in there and be unable to pull out with his wing, and then he'd just die with the Autobots, and then who would raise a cube in Streak's memory?

Furious, Skycross shot up the interior of the control room again. He'd take his revenge on some other Autobot, later. Snarling, he threw a cluster bomb into the doorway and retreated to the gap in the emplacement wall, throwing himself out of it as the bomb exploded behind him.

He was under fire again almost immediately, and had to dive to the side to avoid getting hit. A small group of mechs, Autobots by the looks of them and by the way they were shooting at him, had gathered atop the ruins of the outpost comm tower, using the position's height to fire on the low-flying Decepticons. Skycross spun out of the way of a second volley, almost unimpressed by the weakness of the weapons when compared against the wall cannons he'd flown down, and wondering if he had time to make an attack run.

Another Decepticon spared him the effort. A dark Seeker arrowed in on the comm tower from the general direction of the barracks, not even bothering to shoot, and as he passed the tower the very air around him seemed to deform.

Too late, Skycross realized what was happening, and he quickly curved away to escape the weapon's range but was too slow; the percussive shock hit him from behind like a giant's kick in the tail. It felt like someone had set off an explosion right behind him, and it _sounded_ like the blast had gone off in his _head_ instead; his audioceptors screamed in pain, and Skycross might have been screaming, too, but he couldn't hear himself doing it. Red warnings lit up in his display as a few of his systems momentarily destabilized, and he stalled as his airspeed abruptly dropped in his confusion.

He recovered before he hit the ground, his nose dipping and airflow resuming over his control surfaces; he limped into a lower flight and leveled out as, still dazed, he tried to work out what he ought to be doing. The warnings flashed and, one by one, went out as Skycross's damage control subsystem went to work.

_"Form up,"_ said Redline over his comm link, and his wingleader's voice roused Skycross some and helped him focus. Right. He needed to rejoin his wing, so they could pull out. A quick query ping to Redline was immediately returned with a navigation heading, and Skycross turned to the proper vector and lit his afterburners to hurry.

Primus. He ached all over. He must have been right at the edge of the high-damage zone, to hurt this much and yet still have gotten away in one piece. How did Thundercracker survive at the _center_ of that?

All around the outpost, Decepticons were starting to rearrange themselves, leaving their skirmishes to get back into the air, in a few cases hauling their damaged comrades with them. The Autobots continued to shoot up at them, but it was probably obvious that something was up, and as the pressure lifted off the embattled Autobots the fresh hail of laser fire from the ground and the buildings on the wall was less than Skycross would have expected. It didn't matter, though. They could detonate the weapons cache if they wanted, try to take all the Decepticons with them to their deaths, but it was too late. They'd never get it done in time.

Two wings of bombers crested the wall high in the air just as Skycross got back to his wing, and on Redline's order the four surviving Seekers shot upward. Decepticons fled the kill zone at top speed, rising up out of the outpost like a nest of startled Insecticons, as the bombers began to drop their payloads.

The bombers were very high, and it took a long time for the bombs to fall. Skycross and his wing were well away before the first explosions started.

He felt them first, more than heard them, although that may have been a function of the lingering damage in his audioceptors. Low rumbles of thunder, and then another set, somewhat louder, and then the cityscape in front of Skycross flashed with brilliant light. The sound caught up later, a deafening clap of annihilation, riding a hot wind that felt like nothing much to Skycross after his dalliance with Thundercracker's percussive weaponry, but he knew what it was, and his spark sang.

A fresh navigation ping came across his comm link, and Skycross followed his wingleader in a slow, wide arc, turning back toward the outpost, so that they could see what they'd done.

The outpost ... was glowing white with heat, like a small nova. The defensive walls were dark smears against the shining light, and flares of glowing gasses licked upward from the outpost interior; the motion of the catastrophic flames was made slow and languorous by the tremendous size of them. A low roar of destruction blew past Skycross in the outflow of heat and wind; as Skycross's wing turned a second time, taking in all the glory of that devastation, another explosion went off inside the walls, visible first as a series of bloated flashes, and followed up a few astroseconds later with renewed bellows of sound.

The sky was alight with glowing smoke and cinders, rising toward the smaller of Cybertron's moons, directly overhead. Skycross could see the bombers in their neat formation, moving away from the wreckage of their victim.

_"And that, my brothers,"_ came Thundercracker's voice over the strategy channel, _"is what a job well done looks like."_

Skycross watched the outpost burn until Redline pinged the wing to get back on course back to the base. He felt strangely empty inside, as he turned away from it and took up station on Redline's tail. Those Autobots he'd left behind in the administrative building, and in the cannon emplacement ... they were all dead now. All of them. The bombs had set off the citybreakers inside the outpost and nothing could have survived that. The heat would slag the entire area, all the way down into the subterranean levels, fifteen or twenty levels deep. The walls might even fall before the fires went out. He should have been ecstatic, gleeful. They'd won. Vos was ... not avenged, but closer to being avenged than it had been two cycles ago.

And yet. It didn't feel the way a victory should. They'd won, and he was flying out of it just like he'd promised himself he would. He was alive and relatively uninjured ... he probably wouldn't even need to stop by the repair complex when they got back to base.

He should be happy. And he wasn't.

Next to him was an empty slot in the wing, and ahead of him, in the second rank, a second empty slot.

_See us through Your Holy defense, guard our flight, guide our guns, see us through to victory in Your Name. Bring us home safely, and hold us in Your Endless Spark, forgetting not our suffering, for it is in Your Name that we lay down our lives._


	3. part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic non-con after the section break.

_five million years - part 3_

Skycross was on his way to his dorm when out of the corner of one optic he spotted dark, metallic blue heading the other direction across the quad. Thundercracker.

His spark warmed. Thundercracker. Even if Streak had been right, even if he'd never interface with Thundercracker again, Skycross wanted to at least talk to him. Be near him. Perhaps see him smile.

The thought of Streak wrapped around his spark, sending a pang of emptiness through him, and he hesitated. Thundercracker did not, continuing on his way across the quad toward the door to the regular Decepticons' club, and by the time Skycross shook himself out of his little funk it was too late.

As Thundercracker approached the door to the club, it opened to welcome him. Music spilled out the door, low and throbbing.

"Sir!" called Skycross, but he was still too far away. Thundercracker went inside, apparently without hearing him, and the door shut again. The pulse of music ceased.

Skycross slowed to a halt in the center of the quad next to the whipping post, and stared at the door. He'd never been inside the other club on the quad; the regular Decepticons didn't allow batch mechs inside, and no batch mech Skycross knew had ever tried to push the issue. It was just the natural order of things: the batch mechs were low-ranked, lower-class, not on a par with the regular Decepticons. They had their own club, and the regular Decepticons had theirs, where they didn't have to associate with batch mechs.

It wasn't just the separate clubs, either. Batch mechs did most of the menial chores around the base, keeping things clean, moving things around ... whenever the quartermaster decided to do an inventory, a group of batch mechs were assigned to do all of the tedious counting, and whenever the reviewing stand on the staging ground had to be set up or broken down, a team of batch mechs did all of the heavy lifting. Once, a colony of gear rats had been discovered in the lower storage levels, and Skycross had been among the batch mechs sent to deal with the infestation. He hadn't questioned his duty, even though it had involved crawling around in the storage bays far below the surface, sticking his arm into ducts to feel for rat nests and getting bitten on the fingers at least once a cycle. He'd been given his orders and he'd carried them out.

Standing outside the larger club, on the opposite side of the quad from the club he always went to with the other batch mechs, Skycross wondered if he _should_ have questioned it. His rank was as low as it got, but it wasn't as if there were no regular Decepticons at his same rank, or close to it. None of those mechs had been on the rat extermination squad. No, it didn't have anything to do with his rank, and had everything to do with the fact that his chassis had been mass-produced, and he'd been sparked at the same time as a batch of a hundred other mechs, with another batch of a hundred in front of his and another batch of a hundred behind, and painted with a generic color scheme and given an unimaginative designation.

Skycross had always accepted the arbitrary assignments to servile tasks and orders to charge first into battle without question, because he was a batch mech and that was what batch mechs were for. He'd always accepted that the regular Decepticons got first pick of everything, even the ones who were technically the same rank that he was, because he was a batch mech and batch mechs didn't deserve more than the leavings from the regular mechs. He'd accepted that the regular Decepticons didn't want to associate with his kind, and that his kind wasn't welcome where the regular mechs tended to congregate.

But did he _have_ to just accept all of those things? What would happen if he just walked up to the door of that club and demanded to be let inside? He could be legitimately excluded from the officers' club because he wasn't an officer, but could they _really_ keep him out of this one just because he was a batch mech?

He supposed that they could beat him up. He was all by himself, and who knew how many regular mechs were in there. A couple dozen at least, probably more like two or three hundred. Skycross had never been beaten up by another Decepticon, but he knew that it sometimes happened to the batch mechs who didn't accept their place. Skycross had always accepted his place. He wasn't so certain he was willing to accept it any longer.

Megatron, after all, didn't think that batch mechs had "a place." Thundercracker had said as much. What right did the regular Decepticons on base have to tell Skycross what he could and couldn't do, where he could and couldn't go, when Lord Megatron himself didn't hold that point of view?

And besides. Thundercracker was inside that club. Straightening his backstrut, Skycross strode the rest of the way across the quad.

The door opened as he approached, and the air once again pulsed with music, but the two mechs who stood in the doorway looked very unwelcoming, with their optics narrowed and their mouths turned down. One of them crossed his arms over his chest, while the other gave the rifle mounted on his shoulder a meaningful rub.

"Where do you think you're going?" asked one.

Skycross stopped, but he tried to peer between them to see what was going on inside. It was hard to see. "I want to come in," he said.

The Decepticon laughed. "And sparks in the Pit want to go to the Well."

"Your kind isn't wanted here," said the other. "You go back across the quad." He helpfully pointed the way, as though Skycross were incapable of figuring it out on his own.

Skycross stood there for a moment, unsure what to say; the two Decepticons just stared at him, one of them pointing, clearly waiting for him to go away. They weren't going to let him in. Skycross tilted a little to the side, trying to look between them again, but the interior of the club wasn't well-lit and all he could see was a bunch of shadows, loitering and chatting. Where was Thundercracker in all of that?

Did they have a right to turn him away like this?

"I want to come in, though," said Skycross. "I'm a Decepticon, just like you."

One of them laughed again; the other looked murderous. "You are _not_ just like us. You are _nothing_ like us. Now get your scrap-heap of a chassis out of here before I turn you into spare parts."

No, they weren't going to let him in. Right or wrong, justified or not, there were two of them, and he was just a batch mech. He could try to fight his way in, but he'd only lose because the other regular mechs would back them up and not him. If it was only the two of them, Skycross might have been willing to give it a shot, but no. Nobody would stand up for a batch mech.

He tried to see past them again, but again saw nothing extraordinary. Oh, well. Maybe he'd catch Thundercracker some other time.

"What's going on?"

Or, maybe he'd catch Thundercracker now.

The blue officer draped himself over the shoulders of the two Decepticons, looking out of the club doorway in between them. When he saw Skycross, he smiled brightly. "What's going on out here?" he asked again.

"Nothing, sir," said the Decepticon with the rifle on his shoulder. "Just a batch mech."

"I see that." Thundercracker wiggled his fingers, slung over the mech's shoulder, at Skycross. Skycross smiled hopefully. Primus, he was so sleek, and so _nice._ Skycross wanted him so much. "What's the deal?"

"Don't worry, sir, we'll get rid of him." The mech gave Skycross a meaningful look. "You don't need to mess yourself with the likes of him."

"Hmmm." Thundercracker drummed his fingers on the shoulders of the two Decepticons; the other one was starting to look a little unsure of himself. "Tell me something. What's wrong with the batch mechs on this base?"

"Sir?"

"Well, I mean, there must be something wrong with them. What is it? Are they poorly built? Do they need better programming?" He paused. "Are they ... cowards?"

_Cowards?_ Skycross, shocked, felt his jaw dropping open. _Why would Thundercracker ask that?_

"I, uh," said the other Decepticon in the doorway. "I don't know that I'd say that, sir."

"Because if they are," said Thundercracker, "Lord Megatron will want to know. I can let him know when I file my report. Is that it? Do they run from battle? What?"

"I've never run from a battle!" said Skycross, outraged. "None of my wingmates ever ran from a battle!" How could Thundercracker say such things!? Two of his wingmates had _died_ assaulting the walls of the outpost. They'd flown directly into _wall guns_ and _none_ of them had turned aside!

"Quiet, you!" said the Decepticon with the rifle. "You don't speak unless you're spoken to!"

Skycross shut his mouth, but he was still deeply offended. How could Thundercracker say such things about him? And with him _standing right there!_

"Hmmm," said Thundercracker, drumming his fingers again. "If they're not cowards, then ... what is it? Do you get a lot of defections, then?"

_Defections!_ For a moment, Skycross thought something inside his spark was going to crack.

"Uh, no, sir," said the other Decepticon. He uncrossed his arms, distinctly ill-at-ease now. "We've never had a defection on this base."

"Help me out here. What's wrong with them? There's got to be something wrong with them or they wouldn't be treated this way."

The Decepticon with the rifle began to pick up his partner's unease; his hand moved down the rifle's barrel, a nervous gesture. "Well ... they're just batch mechs."

"Yeah," said Thundercracker. Behind him, the tempo of the music changed, and he began to sway with it; the other two Decepticons shifted a bit as well as he leaned on them. "But what's that mean, _just batch mechs?"_

"Well, um ..." Another stroke down the barrel of the rifle. "They're just trashy little mass-produced Seekers. They're not worth anything."

Skycross couldn't see what happened, but suddenly the mech with the rifle staggered forward out the door. Thundercracker took a step forward and jabbed a fast and brutal punch to the back of the Decepticon's neck, driving the mech to his knees. The Decepticon whirled around, raising his rifle as if to defend himself, but never fired; Thundercracker slammed the tip of the rifle upward with such force that he half-ripped it off the mech's shoulder.

No further resistance was offered as Thundercracker beat the offending Decepticon into the ground. The violence of it was astonishing ... once the Decepticon was down, Thundercracker delivered a few hard snap-kicks that audibly crunched things on the Decepticon's chassis, and then hauled him back up to his feet for a fresh assault. Skycross had to step back to be out of the way, shocked and unsure what to think, but he was close enough to see that the mech wasn't even making an effort to fight back. Probably wise; Thundercracker moved like lightning, every strike precise and merciless, every motion fluid and almost blindingly fast.

He was so beautiful. Skycross instantly forgave him everything he'd just said.

A crowd gathered in the doorway, mechs packed into the small span to see what was going on, watching Thundercracker take this Decepticon apart. A coolant line broke in a spray of glittering mist; pieces of armor fell to the ground as Thundercracker kicked or tore them off. After a while the Decepticon being beaten stopped moving, and when Thundercracker pulled him back to his feet he just fell over, energon and coolant leaking onto the ground; where the fluids mixed, they coiled into a rainbow.

After a final, crushing kick to the middle of his victim's back, the officer looked back at his audience, smiled, and wiped a trace of coolant off his cheek.

"Anyone else like to say that again to my face?" he asked. "I mean, right to my face?" He paused, but nobody said anything, just stared. "Nobody? Not one of you is willing to say that _your fellow Decepticons_ are _worthless?_ Say it again. Look me in the optic and _say it again."_

He smiled as he made this demand, and Skycross was suddenly very afraid of that smile.

"Ah, sir," said one of the Decepticons in the doorway. It wasn't the other one who had tried to block Skycross's entry; that Decepticon seemed to have made himself scarce. "I don't think Silverstrike meant it like that."

"No?" Thundercracker turned a little, and nudged the broken Decepticon on the ground with his foot; the mech gave a weak, whimpering moan. Still alive then, against all probability. "Well, maybe Silverstrike should think his words through a little better. Next time maybe he will. Somebody take this to the repair complex for me."

A hesitation, and then three Decepticons separated themselves from the doorway, came forward and began to gather up the pieces of Silverstrike, holding them together as best they could. Thundercracker walked away from his victim without a backward glance, and beckoned to Skycross.

Skycross hesitated as well before going to Thundercracker's side. The blue Seeker had become very frightening over the past two breems or so - Skycross would _never_ have guessed that something like that would set him off, and obviously neither had Silverstrike - but at the same time that warm little glow in Skycross's spark was back. All that violence had been on _his_ behalf.

Who would stand up for a batch mech? Apparently the highest-ranking officer on the base would. Skycross was at Thundercracker's wingtip when they reached the door of the club together, and the mechs in the doorway parted to let them both in.

* * *

The interior of the club was dark, much darker than the one across the quad, and the music didn't play so much as _throbbed,_ dialed way down into the low bass frequencies. The beat pulsed through Skycross as he followed Thundercracker, resonating through his chassis; he imagined that he could feel it in his spark.

In the higher frequencies, however, it wasn't particularly loud, and so when someone said, "What's a fragging _batch mech_ doing in here?" right behind Skycross, he heard it crystal clear.

So, apparently, did Thundercracker. He paused a moment to look behind Skycross, still smiling that terrifying smile, and then laid his arm over Skycross's shoulder. "Stay close to me," he said softly.

"Yes, sir." Skycross had to fight the urge to preen. _Thundercracker._ Escorting _him._ The air in the club was thick and close, hot from having passed through the coolant systems of too many mechs.

The regular Decepticons didn't dance much; instead they stood or sat around in groups drinking, talking and - frequently - interfacing right there in the middle of the crowd. It was a little surprising, actually, how _many_ of them were doing it; as Thundercracker guided Skycross through the club, they were obliged to step _over_ more than one pair of Decepticons sprawled out together on the floor.

Skycross wasn't sure what to make of it. It wasn't as though he didn't understand the appeal - oh, he definitely understood the appeal, especially if it was Thundercracker - but to just interface in front of everybody seemed ... wrong, somehow. Weird, at least.

If it surprised Thundercracker, the officer gave no sign. He kept one arm over Skycross's shoulder, and smiled and greeted many mechs by name; many pairs of displeased crimson optics followed Skycross as he was pulled through the crowds. Skycross saw them, and felt them, and his smugness faded as he grew increasingly uncomfortable.

He _really_ wasn't wanted here. Really. He was getting the idea that if Thundercracker were to abandon him in the middle of the club, he might not make it out alive.

As he was looking up at the ceiling, wondering how it was held up, Thundercracker leaned closer to him. "Have you ever seen an Autobot before?" asked the officer. "Up close?"

What did that mean? Did _up close_ mean close enough to easily see? Closer than easy shooting distance? Close enough to touch? "No, sir," said Skycross, deciding to play it safe.

With a laugh that was almost inaudible over the music, Thundercracker pulled Skycross with him as he turned to the side, and went through a kind of broad archway in the wall next to the bar. Two Decepticons standing guard nodded respectfully to Thundercracker, and did not challenge Skycross, although they both stared at him as he passed.

Beyond the archway was a room, wide with a low ceiling, with a broad and shallow depression in the center, three steps deep; the music was quieter in here, filtering in through the open doorway but apparently not piped directly into the room. About fifteen Decepticons were socializing in the small space, some seated on the steps, some on low benches along the walls, others standing around the perimeter of the depression, Seekers and bombers and one Constructicon. The nearest group of six looked over as Thundercracker entered and smiled at him and called greetings, but the smiles faltered when they saw who Thundercracker had brought with him.

"Hey, guys," said Thundercracker brightly, pulling Skycross around and pushing him forward. "This is my friend, Skycross. He's going to be _your_ friend, too."

The firm note of command under the officer's cheery tone left no room for disagreement, and Skycross offered a nervous smile as they looked him over. These mechs would take him apart in an instant if it weren't for Thundercracker.

"Absolutely, sir," said one of them, a gray and red bomber with a wide and awkward wingspan. The grin on his faceplate was like a knife.

"I see the entertainment hasn't arrived," said Thundercracker, steering Skycross through the room along the edge of the depression in the floor. "Where's the energon?"

The Decepticons parted to make way for Thundercracker. "They're still being searched," said a Seeker painted black with bright gold accents and metallic red wing stripes. The scheme was quite striking, and the black base color was rich and almost liquid; Skycross could only wish he looked that good. "They'll be here in a few breems."

"Excellent," said Thundercracker, and as he passed the black-and-gold Seeker he ran a flirtatious hand up the Seeker's wingtip.

Yes, _that_ was the kind of Seeker Skycross would expect the commander to want.

It was Skycross, however, that Thundercracker directed around the groups of mechs to a cluster of chairs set up in the corner. Taking a seat in one, he pushed Skycross to sit on the floor in front of him, and then tugged on one wing until Skycross leaned back against his legs.

"Where's that energon?" asked Thundercracker, and a different Seeker came over with a cube, which the commander immediately passed to Skycross before requesting another.

All of the Decepticons were looking at Skycross; he could feel their optics on him. Whether outright or surreptitiously, they were all looking at him. Skycross sipped the cube that Thundercracker had given him just to have something to do with his hands; he was profoundly uncomfortable. The sleek black-and-gold Seeker's scrutiny was especially damning, because Skycross knew he could never look half that sharp, but glancing around he noticed that _everyone_ seemed to have taken the time to polish and wax since the outpost battle. Even the bomber with the drab colors and awkward wingspan gleamed. Skycross hadn't even thought to hose himself down before running after Thundercracker; he still had singe marks on his arm from when that one Autobot took a shot at him, and his paint was still carbonized in places from where the wall cannons had almost killed him.

As the Constructicon stepped down into the shallow depression and started to open a box on the floor there, the dark green Seeker who had brought Thundercracker the first cube of energon returned with a second one; with a not-very-subtle glance downward at Skycross, he smiled and asked, "So, Commander, how many Autobots did you slag?"

"Twenty-seven, by my count." There was only the slightest hint of smugness in Thundercracker's voice. "That doesn't include the ones in the comm tower. I didn't stop to verify those."

"Impressive," said one of the bombers sitting nearby.

"Very impressive," said the green Seeker. "I didn't do nearly as well, only eight for me."

"Nine here," said a different Seeker.

"I have you all beat," said a blue and yellow bomber. "I was in the first bombardment wing."

"Bombs don't count," called another bomber standing with a different group, and all the mechs laughed. "What? You can't verify them!"

Skycross was listening with only half an audioceptor; the Constructicon was doing something on the floor that he couldn't readily figure out. The box turned out to contain a bunch of rods of varying sizes with magnetic locks, and the Constructicon was attaching them to the floor. Skycross was so intent on trying to determine the purpose that he missed being addressed until he was smacked on the wingtip.

"Ow," he said, startled but not really injured. He looked up to find that the black-and-gold Seeker was giving him a sly smile.

"I said," repeated the Seeker, "how many Autobots did _you_ slag, batch mech?"

Oh, frag it. Caught out and on the spot, Skycross said nothing for a moment. What should he say? He couldn't use the truth, that he had zero verified kills and only one possible one ... that would sound pathetic. But what would be a good number to say instead? What would be both respectable and plausible for a young mech like himself? Eight? No, too many ... six? Maybe five ...

Before he could damn himself with a poorly-thought-out lie, one of Thundercracker's hands ran over the top of his wing. "The batch mechs flew down the wall guns," said Thundercracker. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I think that's pretty impressive all in itself," said Thundercracker.

The sleek black Seeker smiled that same sly smile again, looking down at Skycross. "You know," he said, "I completely agree with you, Commander. Each of our ... individual accomplishments was ultimately meaningless, wasn't it?"

"Not mine," said the blue and yellow bomber, and everyone laughed again.

"No," said Thundercracker, amusement lilting his voice. "Not yours, Steel Rain."

The beautiful black Seeker gazed a moment longer at Skycross, and then looked away, still smiling; Skycross burned with humiliation. Thundercracker's hand was still moving over the top of his wing, and he wished the commander hadn't said anything. He probably would have embarrassed himself no matter what he'd said or failed to say, but he didn't think he needed to be protected like that.

It wasn't as though he'd been sparked last orn. He didn't have the same kind of experience that these Decepticons did, but that didn't make him weak.

"One," said Skycross, before the conversation could move on. "I slagged one Autobot, but." He looked around; _everyone_ was looking at him now, and Thundercracker's hand had gone still on his wing. "But. That one? Was the most important one of all."

A couple of the Decepticons chuckled, and the green Seeker asked, "How do you figure?"

"Because it's the one that _I_ killed," declared Skycross. When that earned him only puzzled looks, he elaborated, "Being killed by me automatically elevates any Autobot to the top. I mean, anybody can get killed by the Commander here. It doesn't take any talent to get slagged by him. But to get slagged by _me_ takes a very, very special Autobot."

The green Seeker laughed, and so did the black-and-gold one; Steel Rain just shook his head.

"He's got you there," said a red Seeker with fiery orange wing stripes, nudging the green one, and the gray and red bomber cackled.

"On top of that," said Skycross, warming to the theme, "I put _love_ and _attention_ into my kill. Since there was only one, I was able to give it my all." He looked around and asked, "How many of you can say that?"

"I can honestly say," said the green Seeker, "that I did not give any of those Autobots _my all."_ Then he laughed again, and so did several of the Decepticons around him.

"And that's why you got only eight, and I got twenty-seven," said Thundercracker, to more laughter.

Some of the sublimated hostility evaporated from the surrounding Decepticons, and Skycross was very pleased with himself. He didn't need the commander to shelter him; he could do very well on his own!

Then the green Seeker said, "You're so cute. Commander, where'd you find him?"

"Across the quad, of course," said Thundercracker. He resumed stroking Skycross's wing. "That's where the batch mechs on this base are kept, isn't it?"

Skycross forced himself not to stiffen; the slight emphasis on the word _kept_ was lethal, and he wasn't sure that the other Decepticons, not sitting as close to Thundercracker as he was and having to hear him over the music, were going to catch it. He had only the loosest idea as to why Thundercracker was taking the way the batch mechs on this base were treated as though it were a personal insult to him, but Skycross hoped a fight wouldn't break out in here ... he might not be able to get out of the way.

If the green Seeker heard the threat beneath Thundercracker's words, he gave no overt sign, but his response was nevertheless neutral. "You're just absolutely adorable," said the Seeker to Skycross.

"I'm not adorable," said Skycross. "I'm _incredibly sexy."_ And when the green Seeker started to laugh at him, he added, annoyed, "Thundercracker said so!"

"It's true," said Thundercracker, running his hand over the back of Skycross's neck. "I did."

The Seeker laughed again, and said, "Who am I to argue with that?"

Skycross, hating the Seeker for laughing at him, was about to say something along the lines of _nobody special_ which probably wouldn't have been the smartest thing to say, but he was saved from having to do that by an uproar of sound from the door. The Decepticons outside in the club were making a terrible ruckus, whistling and catcalling, and Skycross was immediately distracted by wondering what was going on out there.

"Ahhh-hhhh," said Thundercracker, satisfaction turning the sound into a delicious rumble. "Here we go."

"Took them long enough," said the green Seeker, optics on the doorway.

With no idea what was going on, Skycross wondered if he ought to ask or if that would be stupid, but that was made unnecessary when five new Decepticons pushed their way into the corner room.

What made Skycross's jaw drop was that four of them were hauling bound Autobots with them.

"Commander," said one of the newcomers, a heavy assault chopper painted burnished orange. "I apologize for our tardiness."

"It's all right, Fusillade," said Thundercracker. "Are you going to join us?"

The chopper smirked. "Not this time, sir. We're still on duty. But we'll be in to clean up, so to speak."

"Understood," said Thundercracker, and his fingertips were drifting down the edge of Skycross's wingtip, sending a delicious little shiver through Skycross's wiring. Skycross couldn't stop staring at the Autobots. "Mosaic will take control of the prisoners."

"Tether them there," said the Constructicon, pointing at some of the rods he'd locked to the floor, short ones set upright with rings on the tops. Fusillade's squad herded the four Autobots down into the depression in the floor, and then forced each one to kneel in front of one of the rods so that their cuffs could be locked to the rings. Almost all of the other activity in the room had ceased, the gathered Decepticons drifting to the edge of the floor depression to watch.

"Thundercracker!" one of the Autobots suddenly exclaimed. As the Decepticon tethering him glanced in Thundercracker's direction, the Autobot said again, "Thundercracker! Oh, thank Primus!"

"Hey!" said Thundercracker brightly. Then he lifted his hand from Skycross's wing to beckon, and one of Fusillade's squad dragged the Autobot closer and shoved him back down to kneel before the commander, and incidentally also directly in front of Skycross. The Decepticon escorting him rested a hand on his shoulder to keep him down.

"How you doing, Rearview?" asked Thundercracker, leaning forward over Skycross's shoulder.

"You know this Autobot, Commander?" drawled the green Seeker.

"Sure," said Thundercracker. "Rearview here used to be the Autobot liaison at Simfur. We used to go drinking sometimes."

The Autobot was clearly terrified, optics roaming around the leering Decepticons around him. He looked somewhat worse for wear, paint scuffed and streaked with carbonization, and to Skycross he also looked _wrong,_ somehow. Even beyond the obvious wrongness of his optics being blue instead of red, there was just something about him, something Skycross couldn't pinpoint, that made him look somehow weak and vulnerable.

"Thundercracker," Rearview was saying. "I'm so glad you're here. You have to stop this."

"Hmmm," said Thundercracker, and his hand was drifting up Skycross's wing again. "What were _you_ doing in that outpost, Rearview?"

In the outpost? Then that meant ... "I thought we were told not to take prisoners," said Skycross, startled.

A gentle tweak on his wingtip made him twitch. "There's always someone who doesn't think orders apply to them," said Thundercracker. "So, Rearview. You. The outpost."

"It wasn't my idea, Thundercracker," said Rearview. "I didn't know what they were going to do until it was already over! I wouldn't have had anything to do with it if I'd known!" His optics drifted around at the gathered Decepticons again. "You have to believe me!"

"I do believe you," said Thundercracker, and the Autobot sort of smiled a little but his nervousness made the expression feeble. "But I'm afraid that's not going to help you."

Several Decepticons laughed maliciously, and Rearview's frightened little smile vanished. Thundercracker gestured again and sat back, and the Decepticon behind Rearview hauled him back up and dragged him to rejoin the other Autobots.

"Thundercracker!" the Autobot cried, anguished.

"I'm real sorry to have to do this to you, Rearview," said Thundercracker, chuckling. "But, well, you know how it is. Mosaic, do him first."

"Yes, sir," said the Constructicon, and then he pointed to the floor. "Set him down here."

"That's hilarious," said another Decepticon, and Skycross glanced over in time to see the black-and-gold Seeker taking a seat on the floor next to him. "I love it when they beg for mercy."

"I think this is the first time I've seen one beg someone by name," said Steel Rain.

"What can I say?" Thundercracker's voice was lazy and amused. "I get around."

Fusillade's squad excused themselves and disappeared back out into the club. Rearview was screaming and thrashing as the Constructicon and one of the bombers forced him to the floor and lashed him down with lengths of high-tensile cabling. The rods that the Constructicon had locked to the floor served as tie-down points; they didn't bother to remove the Autobot's cuffs first, simply strapping him down on his back with his bound hands beneath him.

Once he was restrained the bomber stepped back, climbing back up the three steps and out of the depression, and the Constructicon, Mosaic, knelt down over the Autobot's thighs. Rearview squirmed and struggled, mouthing something that Skycross couldn't hear over the music and the chatting Decepticons, his fear almost palpable.

Even up to that point, Skycross wasn't sure what he was about to see. An interrogation, maybe? Glancing around, he saw that all of the Decepticons had come to the edge of the depression, standing and sitting, and were watching what was going on inside it; a few of them had started to run their hands over each other. Not unlike the way that Thundercracker was letting his fingers glide over the join between Skycross's back and right wing, in fact.

That felt ... really good.

It certainly looked like some kind of interrogation. Mosaic first pulled a few bits of armor loose on Rearview's hips and shoulders, and clipped the leads from some kind of electronic device onto the Autobot's internal wiring. Then he pried open Rearview's linkage panel, located near the Autobot's neck, and jacked himself in, while Rearview struggled helplessly and the gathered Decepticons watched and smiled and chatted casually with each other.

It mystified Skycross as to why anyone would want to interrogate prisoners taken in the outpost attack - wouldn't anything that Rearview knew pertain to the destroyed outpost, and therefore be irrelevant? - but Thundercracker's touches to the backs of his wings were getting really arousing and so he didn't say anything.

Then Mosaic fiddled with the device he'd clipped to Rearview's wiring, and Rearview choked on a scream. Thundercracker leaned forward over Skycross's shoulder.

"Oh, yes," he murmured, and he ran both hands up Skycross's wingtips. Skycross shuddered, and leaned back against him, and drank the rest of the energon in the cube he'd been given as Mosaic calibrated the device and Rearview writhed in agony and gulped down cries.

If not an interrogation, then maybe just straight-up torture. That sort of made sense ... take prisoners and then torture them for the entertainment of this private Decepticon party. Skycross wasn't sure what he thought about this, but what Thundercracker was doing with his wingtips was warming him up fast. And there _was_ something in the way Rearview struggled and contorted in the cables that held him down, and in the way he was sometimes unable to hold in his screams. Something that augmented the motion of Thundercracker's hands on him, something that was really turning Skycross on.

The fact that he was getting turned on in front of everybody made him feel a little weird inside.

So these were Autobots. Skycross looked at the other three, their bound wrists tied to rods so short they couldn't get off their knees. Two of them were trying to huddle together, hiding their optics in each other's shoulders, while the third stared at the floor and shivered. These were Autobots. They were smaller than a Seeker, but bigger than some of light scouts, and they all looked _wrong_ in that same indefinable way. Maybe it was their armor ... they all had very flimsy armor by Decepticon standards.

One of Skycross's first memories was of Megatron standing before him and a hundred other batch mechs, declaring that the Autobots were the enemies of the Decepticons, and since they were all Decepticons that made the Autobots _their_ enemies, too. This, these whimpering mechs with the light armor and the blue optics, this was the enemy.

They looked so weak, so frightened and vulnerable, and he almost pitied them, but then he remembered Vos. Beautiful Vos, delicate Vos, where he'd felt welcome even though he was just a batch mech, and which he would never see again. Autobots had done that. Autobots had also killed his friend, and while that was war and in some sense the outpost Autobots had just been trying to defend themselves, on the other hand they hadn't belonged in that outpost at all and had no business firing those guns in the first place. That outpost had been full of Decepticon weapons, and if the Autobots hadn't taken what didn't belong to them, the Decepticons wouldn't have had to assault them and Streak wouldn't have died.

The little droplets of pity dried up in Skycross's spark as soon as they'd formed, and he couldn't quite hold back a moan as Thundercracker leaned forward and drew his hands up the rims of his air inlets.

"Have you been with anyone since me?" whispered Thundercracker into his audioceptor.

Skycross shook his head, and Thundercracker growled a pleased little growl and stroked down the fronts of Skycross's wings, then across and up them. Oh, that felt good. He wasn't sure what he'd do if Thundercracker tried seriously to make him overload right in front of all these Decepticons, but he knew that he loved having the those black hands on him.

In the middle of the room Rearview suddenly twisted hard, and Mosaic quickly reached down to the Autobot's chest with both hands. As the observing Decepticons murmured in appreciation and Skycross watched in shock, the Constructicon forced the Autobot's chest to open, and the pulsing glow of the Autobot's spark became visible.

"Oh, here we go," murmured the black-and-gold Seeker beside Skycross.

"Mmmm," said Thundercracker, thumbing both of Skycross's wingtips, which made Skycross have to bite down on a little groan of pleasure. To no small amount of humiliation, his ventilation fans switched on as his temperature crossed a threshold, but nobody seemed to notice.

Rearview's mouth was moving rhythmically as Mosaic shoved something like a clamp down into his chest, and used it to winch the Autobot's spark chamber wider. The glow strengthened; Rearview started to shake his head, and Skycross realized that he was saying _no_ over and over. _No, no, no ..._

What _was_ this?

Mosaic placed another bar inside the Autobot's chest to hold his spark chamber open, and then swiftly disconnected the device from Rearview's wiring and released the cables that held him down. Rearview clearly couldn't stand on his own when Mosaic lifted him to his feet, and he had to be dragged away from the mess of cables and tie-down bars.

"Commander," said Mosaic, pride written into the curve of his smile and saturating his voice as he let Rearview fall back to his knees in front of Thundercracker and Skycross. The Autobot's head fell forward as he dropped, but the Constructicon forced it back up, forced him to look at the Decepticons with his spark chamber obscenely open and his spark exposed and whirling within it. "I believe this one is yours."

"Excellent," said Thundercracker.

"No," whispered Rearview, his voice lost in the bass line of the music but Skycross nevertheless could tell what he was saying. "No ... no ..."

Skycross couldn't look away from the Autobot's spark, presented to Thundercracker like a gift. He'd never seen another mech's spark before; it had only been one time that he'd dared to look at his own. Deep in his core programming was an imperative, an implacable desire to keep his spark private and safe, wrapped up behind his armor and concealed from the casual view of other mechs, and he'd never questioned that urge.

It ... never would have occurred to him to force another mech's spark into casual exposure like this, and something within Skycross said that it was wrong, terribly wrong. And yet, and yet. Skycross was already powerfully aroused just from Thundercracker's petting, and something about the wrongness itself was putting a deep ache into that arousal.

Thundercracker beckoned, and one of the bombers obediently grabbed the Autobot and dragged him up out of the depression, letting him drop back to his knees next to Skycross. Unsure what to do, Skycross grabbed the Autobot's shoulder to keep him from falling right over.

"Let me show you," whispered Thundercracker next to Skycross's audioceptor. "Open your linkage panel."

In front of everyone? Most of the Decepticons in the room were eyeing Rearview, and Skycross was right next to him. Skycross's initial reaction was reluctance, although a moment later he realized how stupid that was; there was nothing at all intimate about his terminal linkages, especially considering that another mech's _spark_ was showing. Once he'd slid his panel open, Thundercracker grabbed Rearview's linkage cord - dangling loose down his chest - and connected the leads to Skycross. He did not reverse the connection though ... Skycross's own cable stayed in its place.

"No," whispered Rearview again, and the look he cast up at Thundercracker was full of despair. "Thundercracker ..."

If Thundercracker heard the Autobot use his designation, he didn't show it. "Let him down to the floor," he murmured to Skycross.

This required Skycross to lean over Rearview somewhat, as the cord wasn't long enough for him to sit up when the Autobot was on his back, and the new position made him abruptly aware that this Autobot was now completely within his power. Not just at the mercy of the roomful of Decepticons, but at _Skycross's_ mercy specifically. Tightly restrained and weakened by whatever Mosaic had done to him to get his spark chamber to open, and with his spark uncovered, Rearview was completely defenseless and it was Skycross who loomed over him.

It was a heady feeling, and an unusual one. Skycross could do _anything_ to this mech, and there was nothing Rearview could do about it. Rearview obviously knew it, because he kept shaking his head in denial, his optics hopeless.

Thundercracker knelt next to them, his fingertips tracing a line down the base of Skycross's wing as the officer reached under Skycross with his other hand. "You do it like this," he murmured, and slid his fingers across the periphery of Rearview's spark.

A powerful jolt of pleasure struck Skycross, hard enough to almost make him lose his balance, a sudden thump of sensation that went through him like a blow from his spark outward and left him reeling; when it passed, his armor tingled. Thundercracker did it again, and another stroke of pleasure went through him, so strong that Skycross had to put a hand down on the floor to keep from falling over.

"Primus," he whispered, looking down. The backwash left him shivering, actuators twitching as all his wiring hummed. He hadn't been prepared for anything remotely like that. It had been so sudden, so _intense._ He'd never even imagined he could feel something like that. Little aftershocks zinged through him, and Skycross was taken with an urge to stretch out, to flex his limbs and just _feel_ the cables and hydraulics sliding and coiling.

"You like it?" cooed Thundercracker, and when Skycross nodded unsteadily he teased his fingers over the captive Autobot's spark again.

"Hnnnn _mmmmph!"_ Skycross didn't really want to cry out in pleasure in front of all these mechs but he couldn't hold all of it back as another lightning-strike of ecstasy went through him. His ventilation fans were going full-bore now, struggling to keep up as overheat warnings lit up across his display; Rearview was squirming again, crying and whimpering, and without thinking about it Skycross moved to straddle him so that he could hold the Autobot down with his thighs.

_Holy Primus_ that felt so good. He could probably overload easily from that ... maybe just a couple more of those shocks would do it, and he wanted it badly enough that the fact that he was surrounded by other Decepticons didn't matter as much now as it had half a klik earlier. Thundercracker was stroking his back and making pleased sounds in his audioceptor, but Skycross just wanted more.

He didn't know what this was doing to Rearview, but the Autobot had his optics off and his mouth clamped shut, his face screwed up into an ugly mix of ecstasy and agony. Skycross lifted a hand with the thought of touching Rearview's spark himself, but his hand was shaking terribly and Thundercracker warded it off.

"Let me," whispered the officer. "Want more?"

"Yes," whispered Skycross back, shivering and desperate.

"No," moaned Rearview. "Please."

Thundercracker's voice dropped even lower, so that even though his mouth was right next to Skycross's audioceptor he was barely audible. "I want to see you overload," he said.

Oh, Primus. "Here?" Everybody was watching him, he knew it without looking, and he was still iffy on whether or not he cared.

"Yes. But only for me."

Thundercracker's fingers stroked over the Autobot's spark and Rearview squealed, and Skycross bit down on a groan as another shock of pleasure hit him. Somehow it was even _more_ intense than before, and Skycross choked on a cry, and then another when the sensation didn't relent like before but continued to build like a cresting wave, quickly going from merely powerful to overwhelming.

How could it feel like this? How could _anything?_ The pleasure was almost like a physical pressure inside him, suffusing every component and throbbing through his fuel lines. It was blinding in its intensity, making him feel almost disconnected from himself. His back arched, drawing the cable that connected him to the Autobot taut, the intensity of the sensation drowning out everything else. It built until he was quivering, until it passed the point where he felt like he should have overloaded already, going from overwhelming to unbearable, riding the knife's edge of pleasure and pain. Thundercracker whispered something, something that Skycross couldn't make out, and then the pleasure sharply panged and Skycross overloaded, suddenly and uncontrollably, losing his grip on his voice and screaming a little as he fell forward onto his hands and knees atop the captive Autobot. And as the pleasure finally let up he almost overloaded again as it faded, wracked with quaking tremors.

Holy _Primus._

A tug at the base of one wing pulled him to the side and off of the Autobot; he sort of half-fell over, and the movement of his body made him moan. Thundercracker disconnected Rearview's cord from him and let it drop, and even _that,_ the gentle touch against his linkages as the leads were removed, felt almost unbearably good; Skycross tried to stifle a soft cry.

Another tug, and Skycross found himself on his back on the floor with Thundercracker crawling on top of him, and he moaned again as Thundercracker's hands ran down his chassis. Every hint of contact against his armor made him twitch with almost unbearable pleasure, even down to the feel of the floor against the backs of his wings and the very air that moved against him.

"That's it," said Thundercracker, brushing his fingertips lightly up Skycross's chest with a hungry little smile curling one side of his mouth. "Oh, you're so beautiful."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, because he had no idea what else he should say. Not yet recovered from his first overload, he was so charged up that he felt he might overload again any moment and he wasn't totally convinced that he was going to like it. Every circuit buzzed with pleasure and energy, and it was almost too much; he writhed as Thundercracker touched him.

Leaning down over him, Thundercracker whispered, "That's it. Let me see it."

"S-sir," moaned Skycross, but all he could do was clutch helplessly at the officer's arms as delicate caresses over his chest and shoulders pushed him quickly and inexorably into another overload. Not as strong as the first one, it nevertheless made Skycross twist as it swept through hypersensitized circuitry, again skirting the edge of what would have been too much to bear.

Afterward, Skycross went limp, looking up at this wonderful officer, who always made him feel so amazing, and wanted to never, ever be separated from him.

"So beautiful," murmured Thundercracker, and he gently cupped Skycross's face with one hand, thumbing over Skycross's lips, and Skycross mouthed his finger.

"I have to admit," said the black-and-gold Seeker, peering over the curve of Thundercracker's right wing. "That _is_ pretty sexy."

"I have good taste," said Thundercracker.

Skycross had totally forgotten about that Seeker, and his serene contentment faded into humiliation that this stranger had watched him overload, and that thought made him once again conscious of the fact that a whole _roomful_ of mechs had probably just watched him overload which made it even worse. He combated the urge to turn his head to the side, choosing instead to stare back up at the Seeker; he felt too fragging good right now to let this get to him. "Of course I am," he said, to cover his lapse of composure.

The Seeker smiled, and Thundercracker tilted forward a bit and his optics flickered as the black-and-gold Seeker ran his hands over the backs of the commander's wings.

"Mmmm, lower," said Thundercracker, and the sleek black Seeker obliged, doing something that Skycross couldn't see but which made Thundercracker give a rumbling, appreciative moan.

That kind of irked Skycross. He still felt incredibly good, no longer on the verge of overload, but heavy and relaxed and humming softly with residual pleasure and excess heat; he would have liked nothing better than to maybe doze a little. That beautiful black-and-gold Seeker was taking Thundercracker's attention, though, and he didn't like that.

"Lemme up," he said, and when Thundercracker didn't seem to immediately hear him, he repeated himself. "Sir, let me sit up."

With a distracted smile, Thundercracker moved back and got off of Skycross, but before he could get far Skycross pushed himself up and crowded into the officer's lap.

"Let me," said Skycross, and he slid his hands down the fronts of Thundercracker's wings. The surrounding Decepticons didn't matter at all now; Thundercracker obviously didn't mind that he was being observed as that black-and-gold Seeker fondled him, so why should Skycross?

And even though he didn't have any idea of how to touch another Seeker, how would he learn without giving it a try?

"Oh, yes," murmured Thundercracker, softly into Skycross's audioceptor as Skycross trailed his fingertips up the officer's red and white wing stripes. "My wingtips."

Well, that he knew how to do. Getting his hands onto both of Thundercracker's wingtips required Skycross to press himself almost canopy-to-canopy to Thundercracker, but Thundercracker didn't object. And when Skycross started to squeeze down, Thundercracker made a sound that could be credibly described as a _whimper_ and wrapped his arms around Skycross's waist to pull him closer.

"He likes that," murmured the black-and-gold Seeker, still behind Thundercracker.

"Yes, I do," said Thundercracker, and he whimpered again when Skycross clamped down harder. "More."

Sober this time and more aware of what he was doing, Skycross was careful to increase the pressure gradually; he didn't want to go overboard and hurt this incredible officer who was _still_ being ridiculously kind to him.

Now that he was sitting up, it was easier to tell that not everybody was watching him, like he'd thought; several mechs still were, but most had their optics on other things. Rearview had been dragged off by a group of mechs and was sobbing and crying as they molested him, and a second Autobot had been released by Mosaic to the crowd of Decepticons and was currently being played with by another group. Many of the remainder were watching Mosaic prepare the third Autobot or were openly interfacing. Only three or four were observing Skycross with Thundercracker and the black-and-gold Seeker.

That made him feel better about what he was doing. If he did something stupid, or something that made it obvious that he'd just lost his virginity four shifts earlier, it wouldn't become _instantly_ known to every mech in the room. A little more at ease, he let Thundercracker pull him closer and tried twisting his tightly-clenched fists down the officer's wingtips.

_"Oh."_ Thundercracker let his head tilt backward, his voice dropping into a lower register. "Oh, yes, like that. Ohhh-hhhh ..." He twitched suddenly, leaning back against the black-and-gold Seeker and pulling Skycross with him. "Yes. More."

"Primus," murmured the other Seeker. "I might overload just listening to him."

"Please do," said Thundercracker, optics dim and words strained. "Shadow Flame, higher ..." Then, when the other Seeker complied, he stiffened against Skycross and tightened his arms, and with a shuddering groan overloaded between them.

Skycross let go of Thundercracker's wingtips immediately, a little in awe of how completely _uninhibited_ the commander was. Thundercracker's hands slid up his back and then moved along the lower edges of his wings, making Skycross shiver; then the commander smiled languidly at him.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Get off me."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, pulling back and slipping off of Thundercracker's lap.

The blue officer then promptly turned around, pouncing on the black-and-gold Seeker and pinning him hard to the floor. The Seeker laughed, struggling a little, but Thundercracker was not easily deterred and Skycross guessed that neither of them wanted him deterred.

Yes, that was definitely the kind of Seeker he expected Thundercracker to want.

Still feeling relaxed and with a faint after-hum of pleasure in his wiring, Skycross leaned back against the legs of Thundercracker's now-vacant chair and took the opportunity to look around a bit more. Mosaic had finished exposing the third Autobot's spark, and now passed him, squealing and weakly fighting, to a pair of Decepticon bombers with lecherous grins. The fourth Autobot cringed as Mosaic approached him, shaking his head in denial, but Mosaic got one of the Seekers to help him haul the Autobot over to the middle of the floor to be bound.

Wobbly screams rising over the pervasive music attracted Skycross's attention; two neon-bright Seekers were holding Rearview down, while a third one laughingly pushed some kind of small implement through the Autobot's spark. Again, pity tried to take a tenuous hold, and again Skycross easily pushed it aside. Yeah, Rearview was obviously suffering there, but he was an Autobot and Skycross didn't have any sympathy in him for Autobots.

And anyway, if Rearview hadn't already been claimed, Skycross probably would have gone and grabbed him, and tried to duplicate what Thundercracker had done. That had felt ... so good. Rearview probably hadn't enjoyed that either - it had almost been too powerful for Skycross, and he'd been getting it second-hand - but it seemed like a fast and easy way to get a strong overload, and Skycross sort of wanted another shot.

There were a lot of Decepticons, though, and only a few Autobots, and Skycross was the only batch mech so he'd be last in line for anything like that. Oh, well.

The black-and-gold Seeker writhed under Thundercracker, crying out softly as Thundercracker stroked him. Skycross idly watched them; the black paint on Thundercracker's hands was a little scuffed from wear, and not as glossy or liquid as the other Seeker's base color. Looking down at his own hands, Skycross saw them to be even more scuffed than Thundercracker's, the low-quality paint taking scratches and chips far more readily than the harder paint used on the regular Decepticons. Really, why did the commander keep saying he was beautiful? That other black Seeker was beautiful. Thundercracker himself was beautiful. Skycross ... was just a batch mech.

Once the black-and-gold Seeker overloaded, however, Thundercracker spent only a minimal amount of time cooing to him before he smiled and pulled back, climbed off the sleek black Seeker and went to sit next to Skycross.

_Primus,_ he was so nice.

Thundercracker threw an arm over Skycross's shoulder. "Did you enjoy that?" he said softly, his voice pitched low.

"Oh, yes, sir," said Skycross. He elected not to mention his initial embarrassment at interfacing in front of others; it clearly didn't bother Thundercracker, so Skycross resolved not to let it bother him.

The black-and-gold Seeker was sitting up, optics on them both, and Thundercracker's voice dropped lower yet so that it was barely audible over the thrumming music and the cackling Decepticons and the sobbing Autobots. "I really enjoyed what you did to my wings."

"Yes, sir?" Skycross shivered. He'd really liked the way Thundercracker had reacted to that.

"Oh, yes." Thundercracker nuzzled closer, letting his wing slide behind Skycross's. "By the way ..."

He flipped up a panel on his forearm, and pulled a chip out of one of his peripheral data links. When he offered it Skycross took it, wondering what it was.

It could have been anything, and if Thundercracker had been any other Decepticon Skycross probably would have just handed it back, but he didn't think that the commander was the type to pass out viruses as a joke. He popped open one of his own data links and slid the chip in.

Thundercracker chuckled. "You're really trusting," he said.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Skycross automatically, as he scanned the chip. It held an encryption algorithm, and listed a comm frequency.

"Don't be. It's charming."

Holy ... Abruptly, it struck Skycross what this was, and he froze. "... Thank you, sir," he said, dumbfounded. He copied the algorithm to his encryption database, and opened the listed channel.

It was quiet, of course. Thundercracker was sitting right next to him.

Unbelievable.

"Don't bother me if it's not important," said Thundercracker. "And feel free to tell me to slag off if you're busy."

"Yes, sir." _As if he'd ever do that._ Skycross pulled the chip back out of his data link and gave it back to Thundercracker. "Thank you, sir," he said again.

"You're beautiful," said Thundercracker, and slid his hand up Skycross's back, gently stroking the transformation seam at the base of Skycross's left wing, clearly with a purpose in mind.

As Skycross started to warm up again, he absently watched Mosaic winching the fourth Autobot's spark chamber open, and he suddenly realized what was wrong with all of the Autobots. What it was that made them look weak and helpless.

He glanced around at the other three, just to confirm it.

None of them had broken places on their chassis where weapons has been removed. It was as though none of them had ever had any weapons to begin with.

"I just love watching you," murmured Thundercracker. "Can I see you overload again?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross.

He would never have a different answer for _that_ question.


	4. part four

_five million years - part 4_

The base temple was built into a small outbuilding near the defensive wall, its importance warranting a surface location but not much more. It was on Skycross's navigation, so he'd always known where it was, but he'd never visited it before and neither had any batch mech he knew. It wasn't much to look at from the outside, just a gray metal structure beneath the starry black sky, about the same size as an ammo storage building, with the only indication that it _wasn't_ an ammo storage building being the partway-open door.

He lingered at the entrance for a while, just to the side of the door so that he wasn't readily visible from within, wondering if this was a good idea. He felt a little stupid, actually, like he was about to do something inane and mockable, and more than once he decided to just turn around and head back to the dorm, but never actually did.

No one came or went through the doors, which spared Skycross from having to commit to a decision for a long time, but eventually there was movement inside the doorway. A mech passing within the building, and then pausing, and then looking out the door.

"Hello," he said, smiling.

Skycross awkwardly waved. "Hello, sir."

"You don't have to call me that," said the mech. He was a Seeker, bright orange and yellow, with a bottle of cleaning oil and a chamois in his hands. "Did you want to come in?"

"Uh ..." Did he? Skycross still wasn't sure.

"Come on in." The Seeker beckoned. "Come on."

The orange Seeker pushed the door the rest of the way open and took a step back, and after a moment Skycross thought that he might as well. "Thank you, sir," he said, as he stepped into the temple.

The Seeker chuckled. The interior of the building was dim, lit by a trio of lamps on the far wall burning over a shallow basin; the basin was filled with what looked like oil, but the lamps were the bright pinkish-white of energon so it didn't look like the oil was feeding them. Low benches provided seating that faced the lamps but they were all empty. The walls were covered in murals, etched into the smooth metal and then painted bright colors: images of mechs standing together, hands raised toward streaks of bright yellow raining down on them; images of mechs kneeling while some kind of calamity played out above them; images of mechs laying crumpled, bleeding energon, with ghostly reflections of themselves standing over them.

It was a little creepy, actually, like walking into a crowd that remained eerily silent.

"I haven't seen you before," said the orange Seeker. "You're a batch mech, aren't you?" His voice echoed a bit, now that they were inside.

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, looking around and ill-at-ease. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir."

"It's no bother." The Seeker walked through the temple, down the aisle that cut between the rows of benches. "Less than that ... I'm glad that you're here. I've been worrying about how so few of the batch mechs seem to care about Primus."

"Really?" Skycross stopped at the back of the rows, unsure if he should follow the orange Seeker closer to what seemed to be an important part of the temple.

"Mmmm." The Seeker went to one of the side-wall murals and put a little cleaning oil onto the chamois, and then set the bottle down on a bench and began to polish the mural. "Those who choose to live without the Light of Primus have their reasons for doing so, but those who don't even know that the Light is there for them are poorer for it. Tell me, why did you come here? I will try to help you."

Skycross didn't immediately reply; he still felt like this was stupid, and with a glance over his shoulder at the open door he moved to the side so that anyone looking in would be less likely to see him right away. What was he doing here? This was idiotic. The other mechs in the dorm were going to laugh at him if they found out what he was doing.

The orange Seeker was silent for a few kliks, and then when Skycross still didn't say anything he gently prompted, "Primus accepts all comers, for all reasons. I'm not going to judge you. Tell me."

"Uh," said Skycross. He dithered a bit longer, but the mech wasn't looking at him, and that sort of made it easier. "I, ah ... Why are we at war, sir?"

If the question surprised the orange Seeker, there was no sign. "You can trust your history tracks," he said. "The Autobots on the Senate sought to restrict our access to Vector Sigma. Conflict was a long time building, but that was the final insult. The Decepticons on the Senate were unable to obtain a non-violent solution, and factions began to arise ... Megatron ended up leading the successful one."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. That was all familiar, although he didn't really understand it; the Decepticons on the Senate had surely been way more heavily armed than the Autobots, so why didn't they just fight it out in the Senate's halls? The Decepticons would have won, definitely, even if outnumbered. That was what Decepticons did. There was something about that situation that he didn't get, but that wasn't why he'd come here. "That's, uh ..."

"Not what you meant," said the orange Seeker. He applied a little more oil to the chamois in his hand, and started on another section of the mural; the place that he'd just polished gleamed in the dim light. "I understand. What did you mean?"

The mural that the Seeker was working on was the one of gathered mechs lifting their arms to receive yellow streaks of color. Skycross looked it over, trying to figure out what it signified as he searched for a better way to phrase his inquiry. The worship of Primus was another of those things he didn't really get; he'd been required to learn the basics of it shortly after his inception, but that hadn't taken very long and the data he'd been given didn't really cover much. The broadest outlines of the religion, a few prayers, not much else. He wasn't required to believe in it, just know that it existed, and that was reflected in his skimpy database. What was this business about the Light of Primus, for instance? "I mean, uh ... We - Decepticons, I mean - we were created by Primus to protect Cybertron, right, sir?"

"Yes. That is correct."

"So, um ... why are we are war? With, you know, the rest of Cybertron?"

The orange Seeker's hand paused, and he turned around to look at Skycross.

Raising his hands defensively, Skycross hastened to say, "I am totally not a sympathizer! Autobots slagged my best friend, and they slagged Vos, and I want them all dead! I am not a sympathizer at _all!"_

But the other Seeker just laughed softly. "I didn't think that. Don't worry."

Whew. Spark whirring from his momentary panic, Skycross resolved to think these things through a little more before he voiced this kind of thing to anyone else.

"You want to know what Primus thinks of this war," said the orange Seeker, taking a seat on one of the benches. "It's all right, it's something I have asked myself before. I was just surprised to hear it from someone else."

"Yeah?" That was a relief. Skycross felt suddenly awkward, standing with the other Seeker sitting down, so he moved to one of the benches and sat down as well.

"Of course." The look that the Seeker gave Skycross was a little sad. "Don't let anyone tell you that questioning the rightness of your actions is a bad thing to do. Following blindly and doing what you're told just because you were told to do it, and not because you believe in it ... that's the bad thing. Primus didn't give you a living spark only to expect you to behave like a drone."

Primus was kind of different from the rest of the Decepticons then. Skycross just nodded; he supposed that gods were entitled to live by their own rules.

The Seeker glanced up at the mural. "We are all Primus's descendents, Decepticons and Autobots alike, so I think it probably pains Him that we are killing each other. But that is only a guess. Primus has not seen fit to reveal His Thoughts to me on this, although I have asked Him many times. I do know this, though: He was angered by the Senate's actions to curtail Decepticon access to Vector Sigma. He was very angered."

"Why?" asked Skycross, and then a more important question struck him. "Primus ... speaks to you, sir?"

"Mmmm." A secretive little smile curved the Seeker's mouth. "If you ask Him in sincerity, sometimes He will answer, yes."

Skycross wasn't sure what to think of that.

"To your other question," continued the orange Seeker, "Vector Sigma is one of Primus's agents in our world. Vector Sigma does the Will of Primus. When a newly-built mech is presented to Vector Sigma to be sparked, the type of spark that it grants is in accordance with Primus's Transcendent Laws. Those who built the new mech can give Vector Sigma an idea of what kind of mech they're after, whether Decepticon or Autobot, or what sort of social role the mech is expected to play, but ultimately the spark comes from Primus and it is up to Him whether the mech you get is the kind of mech you wanted."

That made sense. "So ... for the Senate to say that the Decepticons couldn't use Vector Sigma without permission," mused Skycross, "that was sort of thwarting the Will of Primus?"

"If Primus wants Decepticons to be sparked, then Vector Sigma will spark Decepticons," said the orange Seeker. "But He can only grant sparks to the mechs brought before Vector Sigma. Can you imagine being sparked in an Autobot frame? Taken back to the Autobots, taught to be one, expected to live as one, never even allowed to associate with your true brothers?"

No, Skycross really couldn't imagine that, mainly because he had next to no idea how Autobots lived. "I guess that would be pretty awful," he said, because he had no reason not to believe it.

"To be a Decepticon sparked amongst Autobots would be a terrible fate. Primus would not do this to any of us, and so the Senate's actions were a direct offence against Him, constraining His Hand. Yes, He was very angry."

"And that's why we're at war?"

"In a sense," said the orange Seeker, glancing Skycross's way. "Megatron does not ask for Primus's guidance as far as I know, and I'm really not sure what his motive was for organizing the Decepticons against the Senate. But he does Primus's Will nevertheless."

That was ... an interesting idea, and not necessarily in the good way. Skycross went quiet, rolling the thought around in his mind. It implied that Primus was somehow even bigger than he'd imagined; if he found himself doing, say, Redline's will without Redline even telling him what to do, that would be kind of a scary revelation.

After a stretch of silence, the orange Seeker said, "We were always Primus's favored. The Autobots will tell you that Primus loves _them_ best, because Primus placed us to guard over them. They will point to their huge temple in Simfur, where this little shrine would not even trip an Autobot walking through it. Their priests have no duties except to worship Primus and dispense His Wisdom, and there are legions of them. Oh, they will tell you that they are Primus's favorites, but it is all lies. Primus made the Decepticons to guard Cybertron, and He placed the Autobots here to serve as our base of support, doing all of the heavy manufacturing and labor that we cannot because we are specialized weapons of war."

"I see," said Skycross.

"The Autobots have forgotten that they and we are meant to be a cohesive whole, each serving an ordained role in Primus's Great Plan, with the Autobots supporting the Decepticons and the Decepticons carrying out Primus's Will in warding off alien incursion. They believe that we are less than them, and because they outnumber us they believe that they can subordinate us. They believe that we are merely tools to be used, and that we should fight and die and ask for nothing more than what they choose to give us." The Seeker's strange little smile returned. "I think it pains Primus that His children kill each other, but it is a lesser evil. It pained Him more to see His most favored treated as we were treated just before the unrest began."

Skycross considered that. "So Primus is on our side, sir?"

"I don't know that I would say that," said the orange Seeker. "Again, I am only guessing, because Primus has not answered my questions on this, but I don't believe He has taken a side, not in the sense that you or I would recognize it. I know, though, that He does not want us to live as slaves to the Autobots, so our war is something He watches with interest. We must ensure that the outcome is something that He will favor."

"But, sir, if He isn't speaking to you, how do you know what outcome He'd prefer?"

The Seeker chuckled. "Don't be mistaken ... Primus still speaks to me. He tells me what He will, and not always what I wish to know, but He is always with me." A pause. "He is always with _you,_ too. You have only to listen."

"He is?" That was startling. Skycross could easily accept that this serene Seeker was some kind of special mech, hearing the voice of the god, but him?

"Primus is with all of us, all the time. Sometimes He offers guidance, but many Decepticons are too wrapped up in themselves to hear. If you listen, you will hear Him. And if you pray, He will hear _you."_

"But I'm just a batch mech, sir." Even as Skycross said it, he remembered his frantic prayer to Primus during the attack on the wall. He'd started that fight sure that he was going to die, but then he didn't die. Even when he'd been nearly shot down, the cannons had missed. By microns, but they'd missed.

"Just a batch mech ..." The orange Seeker shook his head. "You are a descendent of Primus, just like all of us. Your spark was given to you by His Holy Will. It doesn't matter what kind of chassis you have."

The implications of that were kind of troubling. Slowly, Skycross worked through the thought that had just occurred to him, speaking it aloud to give it weight, and help him understand it. "During the outpost assault," he said, slowly thinking it over, "I was praying to Primus to let me survive it. And I did."

"You see?" said the orange Seeker with a smile.

"But my friend didn't. He was shot down by the wall guns." Skycross hesitated, and then asked, "If I'd prayed for him instead, would he have lived?"

"Hmmm." The Seeker looked back up toward the mural, and then stood up. "That's a hard one."

Skycross watched him walk across the temple to the other side wall, where the mural of the fallen mechs was painted. The orange Seeker gazed at it and was silent for several long kliks.

"Please, sir," said Skycross. "I have to know."

"Hmmm," said the Seeker again. He reached up to touch one of the faint, watery outlines standing above a fallen mech. "Primus does not take direct action in our lives," he said. "He shows us things, tells us things, gives us guidance sometimes. But you will not often see Primus raise a physical hand to help you." The Seeker turned a bit, and his expression was gentle. "When you offer a battle prayer, you are opening your spark for Primus to speak to you, and if you are listening hard, He will be able to guide you safely through. Praying for another ... that's something not many Decepticons would do. I'm sure Primus would offer what aid He could, if you did, but if the mech for whom you prayed was not listening, then Primus would not be able to do much. He is very powerful, the Greatest of Cybertron, but not even He can help a mech who does not want to be helped."

"So there was nothing I could have done," concluded Skycross. In a way, that was depressing, but in another way he was sort of grateful. It would have been awful to find out that if he'd spared half a thought for Streak in a moment of crisis, his wingmate would have survived that battle.

"Your friend died bravely?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, without hesitation.

The Seeker smiled. "Then you can be assured that Primus welcomed him back into His Eternal Spark with pride. We don't all make it into the Crypt when we are killed, but if we die without disgrace then Primus sees and knows, and He remembers us."

Skycross nodded. That was good to know. He could feel better knowing that.

It was sobering, what this mech was telling him. That he, a nothing, a nobody, a batch mech, was known to Primus, and that his panicky prayer had actually been heard. If Primus were to speak to him, how would he know? Maybe Primus was speaking to him _right now_ and he just didn't know how to recognize it. That was disquieting, to say the least; if a god were speaking to him, he wanted to know how to hear it.

He was about to ask about that when a summons ping came across his comm. Redline. He stood up. "I'm sorry, sir, I need to go. My wingleader is calling me."

"Of course," said the orange Seeker. "I hope I was able to help you."

"Oh, yes, sir," said Skycross. "You've helped me a lot."

"That's good." The Seeker smiled. "You're welcome back at any time, you know. If I'm on duty the door will still be open, and you can come in and wait for me, or just be alone with Primus."

"Thank you, sir," said Skycross, and he meant it. Maybe he _would_ come back. He didn't feel stupid about this anymore. He didn't know how he felt about it, exactly, but whatever it was, it wasn't bad.

"You don't have to call me sir," said the Seeker.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'm sorry, I really need to go."

"Go. Primus's blessings upon you." The orange Seeker made a strange little motion with one hand, and Skycross had no idea what that meant but he presumed it was good so he nodded gratefully. He paused in the doorway as he was leaving and looked back; the Seeker was going back to his polishing, all alone in his little temple.

Yeah, Skycross was glad he'd done that. Outside the temple he sent an acknowledgement ping back to Redline, and got a navigation ping in response. Redline's quarters. That was unusual, especially given that Skycross was off-duty at the moment and as far as he knew so was Redline, but he wasn't going to argue; it had to be important or else Redline would have just told him over the comm. He was sober and presentable, so he trotted off in the direction of the barracks where the regular Decepticons who lived on the surface were quartered.

He passed a number of Decepticons as he crossed the base, Decepticons who paid him absolutely no attention, but as he was skirting around the entrance to the primary subsurface tunnel that changed.

A mech towing a couple of transport modules emerged out of the tunnel, chugging slowly up the ramp and clearly somewhat overburdened by whatever was in the modules. Skycross stopped as the mech cut across his path, waiting impatiently for the groundpounder to pass, but suddenly the mech stopped altogether, transformed and stood up.

Blocked by the transport modules, Skycross took a step back as the Decepticon strode toward him; the mech was pretty big, bigger than he was. "Excuse me, sir," he said. "I'm on my way to see my wingleader." _So if you beat me up, someone important will notice,_ was the unspoken message.

"It's okay," said the mech, with a smile that made Skycross want to warm up his lasers. "I won't keep you. Hey, you're Skycross, right?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, wondering what he ought to do if he were attacked. Unauthorized flight on-base was prohibited, but his only option other than taking off was going to be running around the line of transport modules; he might not be fast enough. The Decepticon looked massive and ungainly, built for hauling heavy loads and beating the slag out of anything smaller than a fully-formed gestalt, but Seekers weren't exactly known for their dexterity on the ground. If it meant not getting trashed he might be willing to take the punishment for flying without clearance.

Only after he had that thought did it occur to him to wonder how this mech knew him.

The mech's smiled widened. "I'm Autotrain," he said. "It's good to meet you!"

Then he just stood there, smiling expectantly, until Skycross said, "Yes, sir."

"You don't need to call me that," said Autotrain, with a laugh. "Hey, I was wondering, are you doing anything later?"

What? "Well, I need to see my wingleader ..." began Skycross.

"I mean, after that. When you're off-duty. I was hoping we could get something to drink!"

Skycross stared. This was no batch mech - he wasn't even a Seeker. Did he think Skycross was stupid? Or maybe he thought that Skycross was so desperate for friends that he'd fall for a trick this obvious. "That's okay," he said. He wasn't going to walk into any practical joke if he could help it. "I really need to go now."

He decided to go around the back of the string of transport modules, but Autotrain took a few hasty steps in that direction to get in Skycross's way again. Once again, Skycross stopped. "I really need to see my wingleader," he said, getting seriously nervous. "He pinged me. I really need to go, sir."

Autotrain chuckled. "You don't have to keep calling me _sir,"_ he said again.

Skycross knew that; there were no officer stripes on this mech. He did it because it was a cheap way to show deference to the regular Decepticons, something that a lot of the regular Decepticons demanded. "Yes, sir," he said.

"So what do you say?" asked Autotrain. "Maybe later we can get together?"

"Uh, sure," said Skycross, since it was starting to look like agreeing was the only way to get away from this mech. He didn't want to get beaten up, especially not when he had places to be. "How about if I ping you? Autotrain, right, sir?"

"That's right," said the Decepticon, with a pleased grin. "Do you want my code?"

Skycross didn't, not really, but he took it anyway just to be done with this encounter. Redline was waiting, and he didn't want to get whipped for insubordination just because this stupid Decepticon wouldn't leave him alone.

"I'm off-duty in four cycles," called Autotrain, as Skycross rounded the string of modules and hurried away. "Ping me!"

Yeah, right. Skycross toyed with the idea of deleting Autotrain's encryption code immediately, but he decided to go ahead and keep it. No harm in that, and if for some reason he _did_ need it at some time in the future, it wouldn't do to have to ask for it again. There was no way he was going to actually call the mech, though. No telling what kind of cruel joke Autotrain had in mind for him, but the groundpounder could find some _other_ batch mech to be his victim. Skycross was wise to that kind of thing.

He was almost to the barracks when he was stopped again. "Skycross!" a mech called from behind him.

The voice was familiar. Skycross turned around, cautious.

"Skycross," said the beautiful black-and-gold Seeker again, as he walked up to where Skycross had paused. The mech smiled warmly. "I've been looking for you."

"You have, sir?" He hadn't been particularly respectful to this Seeker during Thundercracker's party, and it seemed prudent to rectify that now that he didn't have the commander right behind him.

"Oh, you don't need to call me that," said the Seeker. "A couple of the guys are getting together later to have a grapple-ball game in the Cavern, did you want to join us?"

_What?_ "I, uh ..."

"Come on," said the Seeker. "It'll be fun. Have you ever played?"

"No, sir." Grapple-ball was one of the things the regular Seekers did; batch mechs weren't invited, and generally weren't even welcome in the big flight training center on Level Eight at all unless it was to perform some maintenance.

"Well, that's fine," said the Seeker. "You can be on my team and I'll teach you."

Something was definitely going on; this was all very suspicious. Maybe the regular mechs were torqued because Thundercracker had paid so much attention to a batch mech, and something had gone around to the effect that he was to be harassed as much as possible. That was scary if it was true. Skycross got by very well on being beneath the notice of most of the regular Decepticons. He didn't know what he'd do if he suddenly became a preferred target for the regular mechs' random cruelty. "Can I think about it a little, sir? I need to see my wingleader now."

"Oh, of course," said the Seeker, with another of those warm smiles. "The game's not until next shift. Will you be off-duty by then? What's your code? I'll ping you when it starts and you can let me know then."

And so, once again, Skycross found himself getting the encryption key for a mech he didn't even know; Shadow Flame, however, insisted on obtaining Skycross's, which Autotrain hadn't. Skycross was a bit nervous about that, but there was no easy way to politely refuse to give it.

"Hey, when will you be off-duty?" asked the Seeker, once the codes had been exchanged.

"I'm actually off-duty now, sir," said Skycross. "But Redline wants to see me, so I really need to go, if that's okay."

"Oh, that's fine," said Shadow Flame. "I was just going to say, whenever you're free, if you want to let me know I can help you do something about your paint."

His _paint?_

When Skycross just stared, the beautiful Seeker smiled again, and said, "You know, polish it up. I bet I could make you look pretty good."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. What the _frag?_ "Can I think about that, too? I really need to see my wingleader."

"Oh, yes," said the black-and-gold Seeker, giving Skycross a companionable slap on the shoulder. "Give me a ping when you're free, though. Really."

Sure, whatever. Skycross nodded and said, "Yes, sir," and the Seeker finally left him alone, walking away to go back to his own business.

Well, that was just _odd,_ and it didn't make a lick of sense. Skycross tried not to think about it too much as he made his way through the barracks, but couldn't help wondering what was being said about him to make these Decepticons so interested in him all of a sudden. Attention from the regular Decepticons always spelled trouble for a batch mech, so he had to presume that it was something bad.

The surface barracks for the regular Seekers and other Decepticons capable of direct flight were arranged in long rows, and Skycross broke into a trot when he reached the correct row, hurrying down it. He was very late by now, what with all the dallying about exchanging encryption keys, and as he raced down to Redline's door he tried to think of some excuse for his tardiness.

His ping was answered immediately, the door sliding soundlessly open, and Skycross stepped up to it. "Sir," he said, "I apologize for being late, I was passing the comm tower and I thought to myself that that little clear area next to it would be a great place for a statue of Lord Megatron, and I got so ..."

Redline waved a hand. "It's okay, Skycross," he said, cutting off Skycross's lie. "Come in."

"Yes, sir."

Skycross had never been inside Redline's quarters before, and he'd had a vague idea that it should have been something other than what it was. It contained a desk, a berth, two chairs, a couple of shelves with datapads and a locked cabinet, and a single hologram frame on the wall. Skycross would have thought that there'd be trophies or something, pieces of dead Autobots or aliens, maybe a mounted head, but there was nothing like that. It was all very neat and tidy. A little disappointing.

If _Skycross_ had had his own quarters, there would have been a mounted head.

"Sit down," said Redline, gesturing at one of the chairs. "I know you're off-duty, but I thought it would be better to do this somewhere away from the rest of the wing."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, worried now. He'd obviously done something wrong, and was now going to be disciplined, but what could be so awful that Redline wanted to punish him in private? Usually that sort of thing was done in front of everybody. Maybe Redline was offering an unexpected kindness in giving him advance warning, so that he could prepare himself. He took a seat in the indicated chair, hoping that this wasn't going to hurt too much.

No hint came from Redline, though, as he unlocked the cabinet and took a decanter of energon out of it, along with a couple of small cubes. As he filled the cubes, he asked, "How do you feel about being in my wing, Skycross?"

"Sir?"

"I mean, do you ever wish you were in a different wing?"

"No, sir." Why would he do that? It wasn't as though he were free to choose his wingleader; transfer requests were almost never granted.

Redline put the decanter back and re-locked the cabinet, and then came over to offer one of the cubes to Skycross; Skycross took it, very unsure of himself. As he sat down in the other chair, Redline did something that Skycross wasn't sure he'd ever seen his wingleader do before.

Redline _smiled at him._

"I'm asking because I'm going to have to re-organize the wing," said Redline. "Four is a very inefficient number, so we're going to need to either drop down to three, or obtain more members to put us back at six. I wanted to know whether or not you're unhappy in my wing before I made a final decision."

"No, sir!" said Skycross, suddenly very anxious. No, he did _not_ want to become known as the batch mech that got thrown out of his wing. "No, sir, I'm perfectly happy in this wing. Please don't transfer me."

"That's good," said Redline, taking a sip of his energon and then setting it down on the desk next to him, so that he could pick up a datapad instead. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Reprieved. Skycross also sipped his energon, feeling like he was in uncharted territory here. What was going _on?_ He didn't understand this at all.

"I've always tried to treat you batch mechs fairly," said Redline, looking over the datapad. "I know I was impatient with you when you were first assigned to me, but I realize that none of you asked for me any more than I asked for you. You were all so young, with nothing to show for yourselves but your base programming. I was afraid that your first time out, you were all going to get killed."

Since Redline wasn't looking at him, Skycross didn't say anything, just nodded a little. This was so weird.

"If I've been rough on you all, it was with the best of intentions," Redline continued. "I want you to learn how to stand up for yourselves when it counts, so that you'll always be able to come home." He paused. "You believe me, right?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, because he knew that that was the only acceptable answer. However, had Redline abruptly declared himself the new Decepticon Air Commander and then broken out into song, Skycross couldn't have been more surprised.

Redline _hated_ them. He hated leading batch mechs. He viewed his command of the wing as being something akin to a demotion and had said as much within five breems of meeting Skycross and his wingmates. For him to say now that, on some level, he cared if they lived or died was astounding.

But, on the other hand ... Redline wasn't the hardest wingleader out there, either. So ... Skycross wasn't sure what to believe.

Redline was silent, and Skycross got the idea that he was supposed to do more than simply agree. "I mean," he said, after a long hesitation, "you're pretty good to us, sir, like you never whip us without a reason, and if someone gets separated from the wing you make an effort to get us all back together. And, I actually really appreciate the threats, because they give me a good idea of what to do and not do. Some of the other wingleaders don't do anything like that, they just wait for you to screw up and then punish you. I think you're probably one of the better wingleaders to serve under."

"I'm glad you think so," said Redline, and then he did something else Skycross wasn't sure he'd ever seen his wingleader do.

He _chuckled._

Had Skycross ended up in some kind of parallel dimension?

Glancing over the datapad, Redline said, "Another Seeker wing also lost two members in the outpost attack. What we're going to do is take the three batch Seekers from that wing. It's best to keep them together, since they're used to each other, and I'm told they work well together. However, that would put us at seven members, so Hardpoint will be leaving us."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, because he had no idea what else to say. Wow. That was really unexpected news. Hardpoint was the last mech he would have guessed would be booted out of the wing.

"I'm sorry to see him go," continued Redline, "but I've found a slot for him in Intelligence. He'd expressed an interest in that before, so I'm sure he'll be all right there. But now you see where that leaves me."

"Yes, sir." Skycross, however, was thinking more about Hardpoint than about what Hardpoint's departure meant for Redline. Intelligence? A batch mech? Probably Hardpoint would end up on a maintenance crew, mopping up the floors and performing minor repairs on the computer systems, but it remained a baffling idea. That Redline would humor Hardpoint's delusions about joining Intelligence was even more baffling.

Redline turned the datapad in his hand around so that Skycross could read it, and then gestured with it for Skycross to take it. Skycross did, glancing it over; the pad displayed a form that he'd never seen before.

Then his own designation caught his optic, and he gave it a closer reading.

"Wing-second?" he said, stunned.

"It was an easy decision," said Redline. "You're quicker in the air than Shear, even more so than Hardpoint. You're personable and everyone likes you. I haven't met the new Seekers yet, but I've read their files and you're a better choice."

Staring at the datapad, Skycross had no idea what to say. The position came with a promotion - a nominal one but a promotion nevertheless. He'd be taking Hardpoint's position, and while Hardpoint lived in the dorms with the other batch mechs and for most purposes was indistinguishable from Skycross, Skycross had deferred to him when it came to wing matters because Hardpoint was technically a superior.

Was this really happening? Nothing that had happened to him since he'd left the temple had fit with what he generally accepted to be reality, but it certainly didn't seem like a hallucination. Skycross looked the form over again; it looked absolutely official, and Redline wasn't known for his sense of humor so it was unlikely to be a joke.

"Do you accept?" asked Redline, after Skycross was silent for a klik or so.

Accept? He had to _accept_ this? Why would anyone _not?_ "Yes, sir," said Skycross, and Redline was smiling at him again so he tried to smile back but he suspected it came out all weird.

A promotion.

He could hardly believe it.

"Code in your acceptance, then," said Redline, pointing at the datapad and then drinking the rest of his energon.

Oh, right. Skycross went to pull a data link cord out of his wrist so that he could uplink to the pad, and only then discovered that he was still holding a cube of energon. He drank the rest, and then connected to the pad so that he could sign the form with his confirmation code. The form blinked once, and then changed color, going from amber to green.

As he did so, his comm link pinged. Thundercracker.

A little giddy, Skycross acknowledged the ping, and then Thundercracker's voice came across his comm. _"What are you up to?"_

_"I'm with my wingleader, sir,"_ said Skycross. _"I apologize, sir, I am so sorry."_

_"It's all right,"_ said Thundercracker. _"Let me know when you're free."_

_"Yes, sir."_ Skycross's spark felt very light. _"I am really, really sorry."_

_"Don't be."_ Thundercracker sounded amused.

Redline took the datapad back and slotted it into his desk terminal, and then pulled out another one and gave it to Skycross. "I want you to review all the files in there as soon as possible. The transfer for the new Seekers will be finalized within the next megacycle, and you'll need to know as much as possible on all of them, because it will be your responsibility to get them settled in. There's also a frequency where you can contact me outside of the wing channel. Keep it open."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. "Uh ... how will I know when the transfer is finalized?"

"I'll let you know," said Redline. "Don't worry, I'll tell you everything when the time comes, just be sure you read those files as soon as you get a chance. Once everything goes through, I'll want you to meet with your new wingmates and get them oriented so that we can start running training flights immediately."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. This was _so cool._ The way Redline was talking, he was going to have some kind of _actual responsibility._

Redline stood up, and, hastily, so did Skycross. "Report for your shift as usual, but we're going to skip the flight this time so don't bother getting fueled for it."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross.

Then Redline smiled yet again, and said, "I'm looking forward to working with you."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, and then, "Thank you, sir."

"You deserve it," said Redline. "And I know you won't disappoint me."

"No, sir. I won't, sir."

Then Redline let him out, and he was back under the starry black sky.

Skycross just stood there outside his wingleader's door for a moment, looking up into that sky; he felt like he was humming all over, buzzing with energy and power. A _promotion!_ Even though he knew that it wasn't much, just the kind of semi-authority that Hardpoint had had, it was still _a promotion._ He was now half a step up on the vast majority of batch mechs, no longer the lowest of the low.

Tapping the datapad against his thigh, he pinged Thundercracker.

_"Finished now?"_ asked the commander.

_"Yes, sir,"_ said Skycross, and then, because he was just so happy, he added, _"Redline promoted me! I'm the wing-second now!"_

_"Really,"_ said Thundercracker. His voice was lazy and deep, and Skycross suppressed a shiver of lust. _"Well, let me be the first to offer congratulations."_

_"Thank you, sir!"_ Skycross was sure that the grin that broke out on his faceplate was a goofy one.

_"Is this your first promotion?"_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Then if you have some free time, why don't you come by my quarters? We can celebrate."_

That was precisely what he'd been hoping Thundercracker would say. Skycross hadn't thought that he could feel any better, but he'd been wrong; he felt like he was _flying_ without even leaving the ground. _"Yes, sir,"_ he said, and Thundercracker sent him a navigation ping to indicate where he was staying.

Skycross immediately turned and began to cross the base at a trot, heading for the officers' quarters. He thought that he should probably stop by his dorm first and stow the datapad in his locker, but that would take too long; he had a good idea of what Thundercracker's idea of a _celebration_ would entail, and he really wanted that.

He really, really wanted that.


	5. part five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the things that happened in the questionable portions of chapter 3. Nothing graphic, and we don't dwell on that, but be warned if you are sensitive.

_five million years - part 5_

Thundercracker let Skycross into his quarters and keyed the door shut, and then immediately Skycross felt arms going around his waist from behind, and the officer's warm chassis pressed against his back.

Skycross's ventilation fans switched on in an instant.

A low rumble went through Thundercracker as he slid his hands over Skycross's pelvic armor. "You want me that much?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir," said Skycross. He hadn't expected to be molested quite this quickly, but there was no way he was going to complain; the anticipation on his way up to Thundercracker's quarters had already gotten him halfway to full arousal. Thundercracker's hands went up the lower edges of his wings, and he leaned back into it.

The room that Skycross faced was at least three times the size of Redline's quarters, and far more dimly lit. Part of it was taken up by a table and chairs where, he presumed, officers could meet and discuss things, but most of it was simply empty and unused space. The computer terminal in one corner was huge, and all of the shelving around it was empty. The berth was half-hidden behind a wall that cut off part of the room, not really separating it into two rooms but dividing it into two sections, and another wall had what looked like it ought to be a vast window except that the "window" was solid metal like everything else.

This was how officers lived, apparently.

"Do you have any idea what I want to do to you?" murmured Thundercracker as he nuzzled the back of one of Skycross's air inlets, and then ran his hands back down Skycross's chassis.

The question made Skycross's fans hitch. "No, sir," he whispered. No, he didn't, but he knew that he wanted it, whatever _it_ might turn out to be.

Thundercracker rumbled again, and the sound was less like amusement this time, and more like desire. "Have you interfaced with anyone else yet?"

"No, sir," whispered Skycross again. One of Thundercracker's hands moved down his pelvis, and the other started to caress the panel covering his terminal linkages, just beneath his instrumentation canopy. A wave of heat hit him; the touches were strong, almost rough, weighed by lust. Lust directed at _him._

"Oh, Primus," murmured Thundercracker. "All mine, then, still."

"Yes, sir." And then, because he was starting to get light-headed from the rush of heat and desire, Skycross added, "You can do anything you want to me, sir."

"Anything, eh?"

The low, sultry tone of Thundercracker's question made Skycross shiver, and the movement of the commander's hands made Skycross want to moan. "Yes, sir," he said, his control over his voice failing.

"I'll try not to make you regret saying that."

After a moment, Thundercracker's hands moved slowly, almost apologetically, off of Skycross. "Go sit down," he said gently, passing one hand over Skycross's back. "How's your fuel?"

Keyed up by the brief touches and strongly aroused, Skycross guessed as to where he was supposed to go and walked across the room to the berth. "I'm okay, sir," he said, perching on the edge. "Redline said that we're skipping our training flight so I don't need a lot." As he sat down, he discovered that he was holding a datapad, and looked down at it stupidly for a moment. Oh, yeah. "Uh ... where I can put this, sir?" His armor ached for Thundercracker's hands.

Thundercracker, in the middle of taking some energon out of the cabinet next to the computer terminal, glanced over. "What is that?"

"Redline gave it to me, sir," said Skycross. "It has some files on it he wants me to read, about our new wingmates." The giddy delight that had been suppressed by Skycross's arousal came back a bit, and he grinned. _A promotion!_

Crossing the room to join Skycross, Thundercracker brought with him a container of energon and a couple of cubes, which went down onto a table that he extended out of the wall next to the berth. Then he took the datapad from Skycross and flipped it on, quickly looking it over. "I see," he said. "How about if we go over this later?"

Later. Oh, yes. _Later._ "Yes, sir," said Skycross.

The datapad also went down on the table. "How long until your next shift?" asked Thundercracker. Skycross expected him to sit down on the berth as well, but instead he moved to straddle Skycross's lap, and then leaned forward to crowd Skycross down onto his back; Skycross went willingly, crawling backwards onto the berth and laying down so that Thundercracker could sit atop him.

He felt like he could overload just from having Thundercracker so close, keenly aware of the other Seeker's proximity, and the promise that came with it.

"Eleven cycles," he said, watching the commander with eager optics. He wanted to be touched. He needed to be touched.

"Oh, lots of time," said Thundercracker, with a predatory smile.

"Yes, sir." Skycross squirmed a little, Thundercracker's weight on his thighs pinning him down. "Please, sir, please, touch me again."

Thundercracker's smile became sharp, and his optics darkened; his ventilation fans switched on in a soft whir. "Begging already."

"Yes, sir." Skycross would do whatever it took, whatever Thundercracker wanted. "Please."

"Open up."

Skycross keyed open his linkage panel without hesitation, and another shiver went through his circuits as Thundercracker jacked them together. The motion of Thundercracker's fingers as he did this, deft and sure, was a turn-on in itself; Skycross had been too drunk the last time to appreciate how easy and practiced Thundercracker was with the process. There was no fumbling, no uncertainty. This was a mech who knew what he was doing.

Then Skycross moaned aloud as the circuit closed and a wave of powerful lust struck him through the link, and then again when Thundercracker slid his hands across the flats of Skycross's wings. Almost desperate now with arousal, Skycross reached up to cling to the officer's shoulders. He wanted to _feel_ Thundercracker against him.

"You're so beautiful," Thundercracker whispered. "I can't stop thinking about you."

The words sent a rush of fresh desire through Skycross. "No, sir?"

Thundercracker's mouth quirked a bit, but his optics were still dark with lust as he leaned down, yielding to Skycross's scrabbling; he lifted one knee and moved it in between Skycross's thighs so that he could fit their bodies more closely together. Skycross squirmed as the officer's weight pressed against him, pinning him. _Oh, yes._

"You don't need to call me that when we're interfacing," said Thundercracker softly.

_What?_ Skycross's arousal stuttered, and then swiftly intensified as Thundercracker's words hit him. "Sir?" Did he really hear that right?

"It's weird," said Thundercracker, brushing his lips over the edge of Skycross's left air inlet. "I know I outrank you, a lot, but I don't want to feel like you're only here because of that." Then he drew back a bit, so that he could look Skycross in the optic. "You know that, right? You don't have to be here if you don't want to be."

Not be here? _Not be here?_ "Yes, sir," said Skycross, and hooked his free leg around the back of Thundercracker's knee, wrapped his arms around Thundercracker's waist. "I want to be here. I _really_ want to be here."

"That's good," said Thundercracker, with a slow smile; he leaned back down and resumed nuzzling Skycross's air inlet. "I'm not the type to coerce mechs into my berth. I like to think that I'm good enough to not need to do that."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, writhing. The touch to his air inlet was nice, but he wanted more. He wanted Thundercracker to touch him everywhere, he wanted Thundercracker's body pressed hard against his own. He wanted Thundercracker to maul him. But he didn't know how to say it.

Then, belatedly, he realized that he didn't have to try. They were jacked together. Skycross booted up the sensory feed that he'd constructed the last time, and poured all of his wanton desperation into it, all of his lust and need and all of the wordless yearning that was coursing through his circuits.

Thundercracker abruptly groaned, and Skycross did, too, when the officer ground his pelvis against the younger Seeker's, and scraped their canopies together. "Primus," Thundercracker whispered.

"I want to be here, sir," whispered Skycross back.

"Say my designation."

Another rush of heat went through Skycross, and he couldn't tell if it was his own or not; warnings started to light in his display. The request seemed almost perverse, and it thrilled him. "Thundercracker," he whispered.

Thundercracker greeted his name with a whimpering moan and a fresh surge of powerful pleasure. "Again."

"Thundercracker." Skycross whimpered as well when his obedience was rewarded by a stroke down his wings, and then Thundercracker taking a strong grip on his wingtips. "Yes," he moaned. Thundercracker's weight crushed him down, and he tightened his arms around the officer's body. "Yes, sir, please, like that."

"Show me," whispered Thundercracker, and Skycross again obeyed, the sensory feed wide open. His powerful arousal, his desperation, the feel of Thundercracker's weight and the _delicious_ pressure on his wingtips, all conspiring together to push him toward overload, all of it went into the feed. Then it was all returned to him, layered through with Thundercracker's forceful lust and intense pleasure, and Skycross could _feel_ how much the officer wanted him. Him. To be the target of that desire, to be wanted by a mech like Thundercracker, was an incredible turn-on.

Why him? At the moment it didn't matter much, only that Thundercracker _did_ want him, that he could be the one that the powerful Decepticon chose to slake his lust. Perhaps he was just a momentary pleasure for Thundercracker, an amusement while the officer was on this base, to be left behind when Thundercracker returned to Darkmount, but Skycross would take whatever he could get.

The stream of arousal and desire from Thundercracker was growing ragged, the sound of Thundercracker's ventilation fans starting to stutter. Skycross clutched the officer around the waist, moaning freely as the pleasure climbed toward an unbearable peak; Thundercracker moaned into his audioceptor and twisted against him, and then gave his wingtips a firm squeeze, and Skycross lost his voice entirely as he overloaded beneath the older Seeker. Overwhelmed, he kicked and squirmed, blinded by pleasure, and then he was struck by a second and even more intense overload as the interface link transmitted Thundercracker's overload to him.

Afterward, they rested quietly for a breem or two, their fans running fast and the metal of their bodies ticking softly as it cooled. As he lay beneath Thundercracker, drifting in a haze of pleasure and contentment, it eventually occurred to Skycross to murmur softly, "You're really heavy, sir."

Thundercracker made a quiet sound of amusement, and then heaved himself up so that he could look down at Skycross. "I'm reinforced," he said. "It's why I'm slow as slag in the air."

Skycross hadn't noticed Thundercracker being particularly slow in flight, although admittedly he hadn't had a lot of opportunity to watch Thundercracker fly. Just that once, really. Feeling kind of slow himself from the pleasant buzz in his circuits, Skycross ran a hand down the officer's body and said, "Why?"

"So my own weapon doesn't blow me apart. It might, otherwise." Thundercracker turned a bit to the side, to give Skycross more of himself to pet. "It's not all bad ... being reinforced means that I can safely pull some mid-air stunts that would kill another Seeker, so even though I'll never win any races I'm okay with it."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, not knowing what to say to that, and Thundercracker chuckled.

"You're so young," he said, warmth flooding the interface circuit. "Come here."

It took a bit of maneuvering to do it without disconnecting their linkage cords or bending anybody's wings, but Thundercracker got them rolled over so that he was on his back with Skycross atop him. The fact that Thundercracker didn't seem to want to unhook himself from Skycross yet made Skycross feel strange inside. It produced an emotion that he couldn't readily identify, but which he liked a lot.

It _was_ more comfortable this way. Skycross draped himself over Thundercracker and put his head down on Thundercracker's shoulder. "I like your weight when we interface," he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Completely at ease, it felt right to Skycross to say whatever came to mind. "It makes me feel trapped, but I like feeling trapped by you. Why so _much_ reinforcement?"

One of Thundercracker's hands moved slowly across Skycross's back, a gentle petting motion. "The extra bracing helps propagate the percussive waves outward safely. Without it, not only could my own weapon damage me, it would hurt like the Pit every time I fired it. I'd rather avoid that." He chuckled.

Skycross had never felt so relaxed around another Decepticon, so sure that the Decepticon next to him was unthreatening. Did the others get this feeling after they interfaced? Or was it peculiar to Thundercracker?

Slowly, less exhausted now, he pushed himself up until he was sitting upright, Thundercracker's hands moving down to his hips. The new position meant that Skycross could look Thundercracker over, the dim light pooling in the officer's glossy paint. That paint wasn't as perfect as it appeared from a distance, he abruptly realized ... the sealing coat bore numerous small scratches and signs of touch-ups, many of them cutting down into the color coat, and the color coat itself was patchy with repairs. Smoothing a hand over Thundercracker's right wing, Skycross wondered what made all those little imperfections so hard to see from a few mechanometers away.

Thundercracker watched with dimmed, lazy optics and a crooked smile as Skycross examined his wing. "What are you thinking?" he asked eventually.

Admiring Thundercracker's paint job seemed like too petty of a thing to admit to doing, so Skycross asked, "What's Lord Megatron like, sir?"

His smile deepening, Thundercracker ran his hands slowly over Skycross's thighs. "Use my designation," he said.

That strange, lightweight emotion filled Skycross's spark. "Thundercracker," he said, and affection bled through the interface link. "What's Lord Megatron like?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Skycross shrugged, his optics moving back to Thundercracker's wing. "You know him. I don't."

Silence for a moment, and then Thundercracker said, "He's a great Decepticon, and he will lead us to victory. He has a great deal of energy ... he's always in the middle of about ten different projects, and he always knows which project is in what stages. He can figure things out sometimes before anyone else does."

As Thundercracker spoke, Skycross lightly traced the Decepticon insignia painted onto the surface of his wing; like Thundercracker's base color, the purple enamel was hard and glossy, marred with scratches and dings, and faceted with the metallic flakes that gave the officer that glittery undertone. "Is he wise, sir?" asked Skycross, and only after he said it did he realize that questioning Megatron's wisdom to one of his direct subordinates was probably not the best thing to do.

Thundercracker, however, took no offense. "I think so, yes. He's an excellent military leader, but he knows what he doesn't know. He keeps advisors, for those topics he does not personally focus on. There's wisdom in that. Outward, by the way."

Skycross glanced back to Thundercracker's face, wondering. "If you're trying to heat me up again," said Thundercracker, "go a little farther out."

That hadn't really been Skycross's intention, but he could hardly disobey that tone. He brushed his fingertips outward, closer to Thundercracker's wingtip; Thundercracker's optics dimmed further, and a gentle twinge of arousal sighed through the interface link.

"Yes," whispered Thundercracker.

"I like looking at you," said Skycross softly. It felt like a stupid thing to say, but he couldn't help it.

Thundercracker's smile widened. "I like it when you look at me," he said. "I want to think that you want me."

"Oh, I do." Skycross ran his fingers over Thundercracker's right wingtip, carefully teasing the vortex sensor nodes. "I really want you, sir."

Another little spasm of arousal came through the interface circuit as Thundercracker made a low sound. "Harder."

Skycross increased the pressure a bit, until he was rewarded with a stronger flare of arousal from Thundercracker. Warmth went through him, the commander's rousing lust waking his own. "Why does this feel good?" he murmured as he rubbed over the node at the very tip of Thundercracker's wing.

"Mmmph. You mean, in general? Oh, yes." Thundercracker squirmed a bit, his hands gently squeezing Skycross's thighs.

"Yes, sir." Pausing, Skycross leaned the other way, reaching for Thundercracker's left wingtip so that he could rub them both. The way Thundercracker was responding to his exploratory, unpracticed touches was thrilling.

"Mmmm. It has to do with ... oh, yes, like that ... with, ahh ... how thin the armor is there, and how sensitive those receptors have to be. We're built to fly, and we're built to enjoy flying."

Skycross enjoyed flying, but he thought that he might enjoy watching Thundercracker even more. The blue Seeker twisted as Skycross manipulated his wingtips, his optics losing a bit of focus as his attention turned inward, and the arousal that came through the interface circuit whetted Skycross's appetite for more. "This isn't like flying, though," Skycross said. "Is it?"

"The ..." Thundercracker interrupted himself with a deep groan. "The, ahh ... yes, oh, Primus, yes, right there, harder. Harder."

Skycross bore down where Thundercracker instructed, rubbing his thumbs sharply over the sensor nodes, and Thundercracker arched and clutched Skycross's hips and threw back his head; the speed with which Thundercracker went from partial to full arousal under Skycross's cautious hands was stunning. Desire and need and pleasure so strong it was almost disabling swept through Skycross, and he moaned with it, drowning in Thundercracker's passion.

At that point, of course, there was no question of stopping; if Skycross hadn't been getting all of Thundercracker's pleasure secondhand through the interface link, just _watching_ him writhe and kick and shamelessly lose himself to pleasure might have been enough for an overload. That _Skycross_ was doing this to such a highly-ranked Decepticon just magnified the excitement ... his inexperience apparently wasn't a bar to inducing this depth of pleasure in his far more experienced partner, or to Thundercracker enjoying himself.

"Oh, yes," Thundercracker moaned. "Oh, yes, yes."

Then the computer terminal had to ruin it, by letting out a loud chime.

The feedback coming through the interface connection faltered, and Thundercracker's optics lit again. "Ahhh." He squirmed beneath Skycross. "Oh, Primus, what a time to become punctual."

Skycross moaned, overheated with impending overload, warnings flashing in his display, but he didn't resist when Thundercracker gently pushed his hands away. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"It's okay." The terminal chimed again, as Thundercracker ran his hands up Skycross's body. "Primus _alive._ Oh, Primus. Let me up, let me up."

"I'm sorry," said Skycross, incoherent with desire. He didn't want to let Thundercracker up; he wanted Thundercracker to stay where he was, at least until they both overloaded. When Thundercracker nudged him, he moved obediently to one side, but couldn't stop stroking over the planes of Thundercracker's wings and he couldn't stop mindlessly apologizing either. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Thundercracker again as he sat up; the exhaust from the vents on his chest passed over Skycross, and Skycross moaned a second time with the _heat_ coming off the commander. He wanted that heat, wanted it badly. "Watch it," said Thundercracker, "this is going to feel weird."

He disconnected the interface link, and the sudden loss of that feedback sent a little surge through Skycross's circuits. It made him yelp, not quite pleasant but not quite unpleasant either, and as Thundercracker finished disentangling himself, Skycross fell onto his back on the berth, hot and wanting, squirming from it.

He wanted to overload so badly.

Disappearing around the partial wall, Thundercracker moved to the computer terminal, and as it began to chime again Skycross heard the officer switch it on. "This is Thundercracker," he said, sounding admirably composed for a mech on the verge of overload. "Do I need to secure this channel?"

"... who's there with you?"

"One of the base batch mechs," said Thundercracker. "Designation Skycross."

A brief hesitation. "I interrupted something, didn't I?"

"My fault. I have to admit that I didn't expect you to be on time."

Skycross was far too aroused to be truly embarrassed, but he was nevertheless _extremely_ glad that the terminal was not visible, and that consequently he was not visible to that other mech. _Primus,_ he was warm ...

"I could be offended by that," said the other mech, but then he laughed. "At any rate, you don't need to send him out. I'm approving your request for an extension of your assignment. You'll be attached on a contingency basis, and I'm not putting you over Charnel. I don't want a chain-of-command dispute."

"That's for the best anyway," said Thundercracker. "He already resents me. He'd probably try to kill me if he had to report to me."

"I had that thought, too." A pause, and then the other voice said, "A batch mech, eh?"

"You know me, my Lord," said Thundercracker. "I'm equal-opportunity."

Although the smirk was plainly audible in Thundercracker's voice, his words made an extra flare of heat go through Skycross's fuel lines. _My Lord?_

That was _Megatron?_

"I do know you," said Megatron, "but what I'm wondering is if that's how you found out what was going on."

"Not really," said Thundercracker. "It was apparent when we were drawing up the attack plans that Charnel thinks of his batch mechs as being little better than cannon fodder. Later I did some looking around the rosters, and they're all essentially on permanent punishment detail. He doesn't even try to hide it."

"I see."

Now that Skycross thought about it, the voice _was_ familiar; had he not been so worked up, he might have recognized it sooner. As the shock faded, his arousal resumed its warm hum through his systems, and he ran a hand down his instrumentation canopy as he listened to the other Decepticons' conversation. His incipient overload had faded somewhat, but the need for it still thrummed through him.

"All of the regular mechs on this base treat the batch mechs like slag," Thundercracker was saying, "but it's obvious that it's top-down."

"They do it because Charnel does it," said Megatron.

"He sets the example."

"Do you think you can handle this by yourself?"

Touching his canopy felt good; Skycross passed his other hand across one wing, and ran his knuckles over the sensors at the tip. It wasn't much of a substitute for what Thundercracker could do to him, but it nevertheless kept the arousal humming through him, kept his circuits warmed and his fans on, while he thought about what Thundercracker and Megatron were saying.

"I suppose I'll have to," said Thundercracker. "It's not like you can spare anybody else."

"That's not true. I could send Scratch, or Soundwave."

"Scratch wouldn't be much help by himself, and this isn't important enough for Soundwave. Unless you have a spare gunship squadron you're not using ..."

"And I don't. All right. Don't get killed."

"I wasn't planning on it. By the way, when are you going to declare?"

There was a long silence, filled with the whirling of Skycross's ventilation fans and a faint whisper of static from the comm connection on the computer terminal. "Forgive me, my Lord," said Thundercracker eventually.

"That's become something of a sore subject around here," said Megatron, and the friendly pitch had gone out of his voice, replaced by a tight irritation. "But you didn't have any way to know."

"Starscream, I presume."

"He wants me to declare immediately. I'm going to wait until the generals have been interred and a _decorous_ period of time has passed."

"That's more or less what I expected," said Thundercracker. "And I'm sure that's what everybody expects. Starscream is an idiot."

"He has his uses."

"I could use him for spare parts. My left engine has been making some funny noises recently."

Megatron chuckled. "If you have nothing else, I'll let you get back to your recreation."

"Thank you," said Thundercracker. "I'll report in on a standard schedule, so if you don't hear from me it means that Charnel has had enough of me."

"Don't kill him unless you have to," said Megatron. "In spite of this gaping issue where the batch mechs are concerned, he's a good commander."

"Understood," said Thundercracker.

"Darkmount out."

Skycross heard the computer terminal being switched off, and then Thundercracker's footsteps approached.

"You're staying," said Skycross. He liked that thought.

"So I am." Thundercracker came around the wall, his optics flicking over Skycross laying sprawled out with his hands on himself, and let out a soft groan. "You couldn't wait just a couple of kliks for me, could you?"

"I didn't overload," said Skycross, sitting up as Thundercracker climbed onto the berth.

"Oh, Primus, I want to see that." Thundercracker sat with his back to the wall, and drew Skycross to straddle his lap. "I want to watch you overload yourself."

"Really?" Skycross hadn't been touching himself with that kind of intention; why should he, when Thundercracker could do it for him? But if Thundercracker wanted him to ...

"Oh, yes." With swift, crisp motions, Thundercracker re-connected the interface connection, and Skycross moaned aloud as the link re-established and he was hit again by the power of the officer's desire. "Oh, I really want to see that," said Thundercracker. "Will you? Please?"

_Primus._ "I'll do anything for you," said Skycross, and he meant it.

He raised his hands to his wings, hesitant because he had no idea what exactly Thundercracker wanted to see; his ailerons flexed nervously as he passed the backs of his hands down toward his wingtips. He was still heated up, no longer overheated or on the verge of overload, but his body was primed and his wings were sensitive, and he had to bite back another moan.

"No, no," murmured Thundercracker. "Don't hold it back. Let me hear you."

"This is embarrassing," said Skycross, not sure why.

"Don't be embarrassed," said Thundercracker, and he ran his hands up Skycross's thighs. "You're beautiful."

"I don't know why you say that." Skycross looked away, preferring to look at his own hand against the flat of his wing than at the mech he was jacked into. "Shadow Flame is a lot more beautiful than I am."

"Shadow Flame has prettier _paint,"_ said Thundercracker, and he seemed to think that explained everything.

It didn't, not to Skycross, but he didn't press for more; instead, he brushed the backs of his fingers over one wingtip. He quickly found the right sensor nodes, the ones that gave him that flash of intense pleasure from even the briefest contact, and he ran his fingers back and forth over them. Thundercracker liked to have his wingtips squeezed hard, but Skycross discovered immediately that anything even close to that kind of pressure was painful on himself, and so he restricted himself to gentle rubbing.

Even gentle rubbing, though, was enough to send waves of heat through him, and Thundercracker groaned softly as Skycross fed the sensations through the interface.

"Here," murmured Thundercracker, and Skycross was forced to look away from his own wingtip when the officer took his other hand by the wrist. Thundercracker guided his fingertips downward, pressing them into the narrow gap between Skycross's leg and pelvic armor. "Inside here, there's ..."

"Ahhh!" Skycross flinched as _something_ was compressed inside the components within his armor. He remembered Thundercracker touching him there the first time they'd interfaced, when Skycross had been stupidly drunk, but he didn't remember it feeling quite like _that._

"Yes," said Thundercracker gently. "And here." He moved Skycross's fingers upward through the gap, to a second, less intense cluster of receptors.

Oh, that felt _so_ good. Skycross cautiously probed this new revelation, his hips jerking as he discovered how much pressure to apply. Thundercracker made a soft sound, his hands dropping away from Skycross.

It was still embarrassing, but less so now that Thundercracker had touched him. Skycross still didn't want to look the officer in the face as he slowly explored his own body, keeping his optics fixed on Thundercracker's shoulder, but it _did_ feel good. It felt incredible, in fact, inducing a kind of restlessness in Skycross's circuits along with the pleasure, a strange feeling that demanded more sensation, rougher touches. Still brushing the fingers of his other hand over his wingtip, Skycross gently rubbed the sensor nodes within his hip, and was soon biting down on another moan.

But Thundercracker didn't want him to repress himself, did he? Skycross moved his fingers against the nodes, and gave his next moan voice. It was echoed by a soft little whining sound from Thundercracker, and a sharp wave of lust through the link-up.

"Yes," whispered Thundercracker. "Oh, yes."

The heat that Skycross had lost while Thundercracker had taken the comm from Megatron was swiftly returning, every rub of his fingers over his own sensors stoking it higher. He soon bent over, dropping his head a little and offlining his optics so that he could concentrate more fully on the sensations ripping through him; overheat warnings lit up.

He knew at that point that he could overload himself like this, even with Thundercracker watching ... in fact, Thundercracker watching was adding to the thrill. But he remembered what it had felt like to steal pleasure from that captive Autobot, and the memory sent a flare of fresh desire through him; to feed it, he gently pinched his wingtip and twisted his fingertips over the vortex sensors. Skycross had never imagined that anything could feel the way that playing with that Autobot's spark had.

Was there any good reason why it could only feel that way secondhand? Passing his hand up from his hip, Skycross stroked over his instrumentation canopy, right over his spark.

His spark chamber was halfway open when a convolution of questions and emotions crashed through the interface linkup, startling him and arresting his action.

"Holy Primus," whispered Thundercracker. "What are you doing?"

Guiltily, Skycross switched his optics back on; Thundercracker looked stunned. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, his hand shielding his half-open spark chamber. Oh, bad move. Very bad move. He tried to figure out how to reverse the sequence and close his spark chamber again before it fully opened. "I'm sorry. I screw up everything."

"No, no," said Thundercracker, raising a hand to Skycross's arm; the flood of disorganized emotions continued through the linkage connection, but the stranger emotions were being swiftly drowned out by an overwhelming rush of lust. "Don't be sorry ... oh, _Primus,_ can I see?" A gentle tug on Skycross's arm accompanied his words. "Please? Oh, Primus, please?"

Now that he was thinking properly, Skycross was reluctant; a spark was an intensely private thing, and he had no idea what he'd been thinking when he'd decided to open up his. But it had been the truth when he'd said that he'd do anything for the commander, and how could he refuse when Thundercracker was literally begging? Skycross let the gentle pressure on his wrist draw his arm aside.

His spark chamber was still frozen halfway open, the warm glow reflecting as white points in Thundercracker's blue paint, and in the corners of Thundercracker's optics. As his hand moved aside, the wanton lust from Thundercracker spiked higher; then with raised fingers Thundercracker diverted Skycross's other hand, brushing Skycross's arm to the side before Skycross himself even realized that he'd moved again to cover his spark.

The motions were gentle, a request rather than a demand, but Skycross was compliant; intensely self-conscious and just as intensely aroused, he let Thundercracker spread his arms to the side so that his half-open spark chamber was exposed.

Thundercracker said nothing at first, just stared, but the sensations pouring through the link were as strong as a physical touch, and building heat sent another warning across Skycross's display. The desire was almost too powerful to be called by such a label, equal parts lust and hunger and yearning need, rippling through Skycross's circuits in a spiraling wave. He felt vulnerable, shy, and exposed in a new and not entirely pleasant way, but Thundercracker's lust wracked him, and turned all of that inward on itself.

"Primus," Thundercracker whispered softly. "Oh, Primus."

The urge to cover his spark slowly faded from Skycross's processors; he thought that he might overload just from the power of Thundercracker's referred desire. Eventually, he let the open sequence continue, and as the reflected light in Thundercracker's optics brightened the officer let out a soft and utterly broken moan.

"Oh, Primus." The whisper was a prayer. Thundercracker leaned forward, shaking, as though fighting an irresistible pull; with Skycross seated on his thighs, this meant that his face was almost level with Skycross's chest. "May I? Please? Please?"

Trembling, on the edge of overload and with no idea of what Thundercracker was asking to do, Skycross nodded and murmured, "Yes, sir," and with a wobbly groan Thundercracker switched off his optics and began to gently mouth the edges of the younger Seeker's open chest. His arms went around Skycross's back under his wings, and Skycross dropped his around Thundercracker's shoulders, the first waves of overload starting to ripple through him.

Thundercracker's arms tightened, hands going up Skycross's back as he began to lap at the edges of Skycross's spark like a mech compelled, and Skycross's overload wracked through him, arching his back and throwing back his head as a pleasure more intense than anything he'd yet felt to date throbbed up his chassis, down his limbs, outward through his wings. And it didn't stop ... it didn't _snap_ and start to fade, but just kept going, radiating through him, wresting strangled sounds from his vocalizer and spasmodic jerking from his body as it just _continued_ and went _on and on._ Critical heat warnings began to flash in his display, but Skycross barely saw them, holding Thundercracker tightly to his chest, wanting this to go on forever as his vision started to white out.

Some time later, he began to slowly regain consciousness. His chassis felt very light, as though his body had been replaced with air, buoyant and free, and he was suffused with a glowing kind of residual pleasure. That was enough for him for some time, but gradually more of reality began to register: the surface under his back, the position of his body with his limbs splayed out, the weight resting against his side, half-atop him and sort of holding him down. He tried to move, and found that he couldn't do it very well, his body strangely heavy for how lightweight it felt, but that was fine.

"Oh," he groaned. "Oh."

The weight against him shifted, snuggling closer. "You're crazy," murmured a soft voice. "You're so beautiful."

That made Skycross smile. That was Thundercracker. He'd ended up on his back somehow, and Thundercracker was next to him, laying up against him, and that weight across his chest was Thundercracker's arm, the weight on his leg was Thundercracker's knee.

"Yes, sir," he said, and his vocalizer slurred the words.

A pause, and then, his voice full of warmth, Thundercracker murmured, "Say my designation."

"Thundercracker," said Skycross, with a grin.

That was all for several breems, the two Seekers resting quietly together. Skycross had never felt like this in all his short life, and had never thought he ever could. He could lay like this forever, adrift in time, tired and content.

Thundercracker was staying on-base, for a time at least. The thought filled Skycross with happiness; Thundercracker wasn't leaving anytime soon. As some of the languidness faded, Skycross asked, "Can we do this again?"

A soft sound, indefinable, from the officer. "You want to do it _again?"_

"Not right now," said Skycross, realizing suddenly how that had sounded. "But ... uh ..."

The weight against him moved, and Skycross cast about lazily for the correct program switch to get his optics back online; he succeeded just in time to see Thundercracker settling above him, looking down at him. "What you did," said the blue Seeker, slowly. "That was really insane." There was a tiny smile curling his lip, but his voice was dead serious.

Bringing a hand - heavy, uncoordinated - over to his chest, Skycross wondered if Thundercracker meant his words kindly or not; between the tone and the weird little smile, it was hard to guess. Skycross could feel that his spark chamber was closed again, tightly locked against intrusion, and he tapped his fingers on his canopy just above it.

"Insane," repeated Thundercracker, when Skycross said nothing. "If you'd done that with some other mech, someone crueler than I am ..."

"I wouldn't have," said Skycross. He was being rebuked, then. "I wouldn't have done that if it hadn't been you."

"You don't really know me," said Thundercracker, and his voice was gentle now. "I could have done anything. You saw what happened to Rearview."

How could Skycross explain it? He couldn't possibly have resisted the hunger in Thundercracker's gaze, looking at his spark, the pleas. "Yes, sir," he said, unsure what to say.

"Don't ever do that with anyone else," said Thundercracker. "Okay? Promise me."

Promise? "Yes, sir," said Skycross, unsure why the commander didn't just make it an order. "I ... ah, I promise."

Thundercracker's smile spread a bit, became more genuine, and his voice picked up an intimate and affectionate note. "That was the most erotic thing I've ever seen," he said softly. His hand moved up the side of Skycross's body, an extraordinarily passionate gesture.

"Yes, sir?" Skycross felt unexpectedly, strangely thrilled.

"I've done a lot of mechs," said Thundercracker. "Nobody has ever shown me their spark before. Willingly, I mean."

His optics flicked down to Skycross's hand, resting on his chest over his spark, and the thrill intensified. "I'll do it again, whenever you want," whispered Skycross. "Just tell me when."

"No," said Thundercracker, his voice suddenly tight. "No, don't say that."

"I will," Skycross insisted.

"No." Thundercracker hesitated, and then said, "I don't want to be the one who decides that."

That confused Skycross for a moment, but only a moment. Thundercracker was just _so nice._ "Yes, sir," said Skycross.

"How do you feel?" Thundercracker sat up, and then gingerly disconnected the terminal cords; Skycross hadn't even noticed that they were still connected, the link-up had been so quiet. "More awake?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. And he did ... that strange, subdued lassitude remained in his limbs, making him want to just lay still, but he didn't feel any need for immediate recharge.

Thundercracker turned to sit on the edge of the berth and filled one of the cubes with energon. "Good," he said.

Skycross sat up, expecting to be handed the cube, but Thundercracker did not pass it to him. Instead, the officer beckoned to him, and when Skycross crawled closer he lifted the cube to Skycross's lips.

Taken by surprise, Skycross opened his mouth, and Thundercracker gently tipped up the cube. Their collective coordination was not perfect, and a bit of energon spilled out the corner of Skycross's mouth as he swallowed; Thundercracker leaned forward to lick it off before raising the cube again.

_Primus._ How could something as simple as taking fuel be such a turn-on? Skycross rested on his hands and knees, making no motion to take control of the energon as he was fed, and Thundercracker smiled a pleased smile. When the cube was empty, Thundercracker went to re-fill it.

"Do you want more?" he asked.

The energon had the smooth tang of high-grade, and Skycross could already feel it surging into his systems. "I'm fine, sir," he murmured, licking his lips, not wanting to get as drunk as the stuff could easily make him. The rush that even one cube gave him was enough.

"Maybe later then," said Thundercracker. "I want to play with you more, and I don't want you getting low on energy." He knocked back the cube in his hand.

Skycross shivered, fresh arousal already warming him. Thundercracker wanted to _play_ with him, like a toy. _Oh, yes._ "I'll be all right for a while, sir," he said.

As the commander set the emptied cube down on the little table, he moved to pick up the datapad that had been discarded there in their initial rush to overload each other. He switched it on, and gave it another look-through. "Wing-second, eh?" he mused. 

"Redline wants me to read through those," said Skycross. "I guess I should leave some time for that."

Leaning back, Thundercracker made himself comfortable in the berth against the wall, paging through the datapad. "Headwind," he said, "Tailwind, and Windknife. Someone had a theme in mind."

"Those are their designations?" Skycross went to curl up at Thundercracker's side, where he could see the datapad, too.

"Yes." Thundercracker tilted the datapad so that Skycross could more easily see, and paged through the top files; the mechs' portraits, images of their altmodes, and their wing colors flashed by, along with summaries of their service files. "These two, Headwind and Tailwind, are twins. And look here, they've been cited a few times for disorderly conduct. Twins sometimes get a little full of themselves, thinking that because they always have a trustworthy wingmate they can get away with anything. They'll probably try to push you, and you'll have to show them that you deserve to be over them."

"How do I do that?" Skycross reached for the pad, and Thundercracker gave it over.

"Depends." Thundercracker's hand dropped to Skycross's thigh, slowly stroking. "You have to get your wingmates to respect you, even if they don't necessarily like you. Being liked and respected at the same time is the best thing, but if you can't have both and you have to choose, you need to choose respect. How you get that ... it all depends."

Skycross didn't know any twins, and wasn't really sure he knew what the word _twin_ meant exactly, but Headwind and Tailwind certainly had a certain resemblance to each other, even given that they were both batch mechs and all batch mechs had been built out of the same sets of components. It was in their expressions, he decided.

"You'll have to find out more about them," Thundercracker said. "Some Seekers respect another Seeker who can fly skillfully. Others respect a Seeker who is an accurate shot, or who can hold his own in a hand-to-hand fight. They'll probably try to push you, and you can't back down, or try to make friends with them when they do. You'll outrank them, and you'll need to make sure they understand that. You can make friends with them afterward, if you want."

"What if I can't do whatever it is they want me to do?" asked Skycross. He was a pretty good shot, but he was kind of cruddy at hand-to-hand, and there would be two of them and only one of him.

"That's not an option," said Thundercracker gently. "You'll just have to get good at whatever it is."

That was an intimidating idea. Skycross thought it over. "Will you help me?" he asked quietly. "Sir?"

"I may," said Thundercracker. "If I have time. It's my fault you ended up in this position, I suppose I could give you a hand with it."

What? Skycross glanced at Thundercracker's face. "What do you mean?" he asked.

The commander laughed softly, took the datapad from Skycross's hand and set it on the berth to one side. "I love how young you are," he said, as he gently pressed Skycross down onto his back. "You're so unspoiled."

Not sure what that meant, Skycross went down easily. "Is that a good thing?" he wondered.

"Right now, yes," said Thundercracker. "It's a very sexy thing. I can't even describe how hot that is. I want to enjoy you as much as I can before someone spoils you and you become cynical like me."

That made no sense to Skycross at all, but Thundercracker was running his hands up the insides of his thighs, and all Skycross wanted for the moment was to spread his legs for that and let Thundercracker touch him. Any thinking that needed to be done could be done later.


	6. part six

_five million years - part 6_

_"Sector five-eight, no contacts,"_ reported Tailwind. _"Vectoring to five-twelve."_

Skycross marked five-eight off on his navigation.

_"Sector six-three, no contacts."_ Headwind. _"Vectoring to seven-two."_

Six-three got marked off as well.

Skycross skimmed low over the broken city that surrounded the base, sensors at their highest gain; they returned a lot of false positives like that, but he already knew where all the uranium chips and exhaust vents were, so he ignored the heat signatures for the known anomalies. Nothing turned up on his comm sweep that couldn't be identified as Decepticon transmissions, and the only hits on his motion sensors were vermin. He kept one of his dorsal sensors on the sky, because the weather was starting to become threatening, with the haze that had moved in a megacycle earlier thickening into clouds. It might begin raining in the next few cycles, Redline had said.

It was turning out to be something of a challenge, keeping his navigation updated with not only the positions for all of his wingmates, but also where each one had been and where each one was headed, while _simultaneously_ running his own search scan. He'd never paid a lot of attention to most of that before, focusing entirely on his scans and relying on Redline to keep him on track, but now he was the wing-second. Redline had said that he needed to know everything he could about everyone in the wing at all times. _Just in case,_ he said.

_"Sector five-five, no contacts,"_ said Shear. _"Vectoring to one-eight."_

Coming to the end of his current pattern, Skycross said, _"Sector three-twelve, no contacts, vectoring to five-one."_ He marked the sector off on his navigation, along with Shear's, and then banked around to head for his next sector.

The city below him, as he cruised toward five-one, was a ruin. The destruction of the support town around the base had happened before Skycross's inception, so he'd never seen it as anything other than what it was now: a dark confusion of wrecked buildings and smashed streets. Skycross wondered, a little, what it had been like before the war, when the city had been whole and occupied, standing upright and bright with lights. Autobots would have lived there, he knew; his history tracks told him as much. Autobots always settled around Decepticon bases and outposts, providing an assortment of services in exchange for energon credits and, in the event of invasion by marauding species, finding shelter within the walls.

No Autobots lived there now, of course, not even the starving refugees that Skycross's wing occasionally encountered on long patrol. Any Autobot found within the base's outer defense perimeter was to be apprehended and carried back to base, and Skycross imagined that they all knew that because his wing never found any.

But once, once, Autobots had lived within the perimeter and the Decepticons had let them. He wondered what that had been like. It was hard for him to imagine thinking of Autobots as anything but the enemy.

A timorous voice across the wing channel roused Skycross from what was turning out to be an unexpectedly melancholy line of thought. _"Uh, sir,"_ said Windknife. Then there was a long silence.

Since Windknife was currently in Skycross's trine, he prompted, _"What is it?"_

_"I'm not sure. Um ..."_

Skycross knew what Redline would say if he had to get involved, and it was _not_ going to be pleasant. _"Come on, Windknife,"_ said Skycross, hoping he could handle it before his wingleader felt a need to step in. _"What is it? Just say it."_

_"He's probably found another bolt bat,"_ said Tailwind, and Headwind cackled.

_"Quiet,"_ said Redline, his voice sharp and irritated.

Oh, dear. _"What do you see, Windknife?"_ asked Skycross, before Redline could say more.

_"I'm sorry, it's probably nothing,"_ said Windknife. _"It's just, I don't know, some junk seems out of place."_

_"Junk out of place,"_ said Headwind. _"Brilliant."_

_"I know it's probably nothing ..."_ began Windknife.

_"Skycross, check it out,"_ said Redline. _"And Headwind and Tailwind? You keep the channel clear, and we are going to have a discussion about this when we get back to base."_

_"Yes, sir,"_ said Skycross, sending a query ping to Windknife; even though he wasn't going to be on the receiving end of Redline's _discussion,_ the tone of his wingleader's voice made him quail.

Skycross had no idea how the twins' previous wingleader had handled things, but they had funny ideas about proper behavior that Redline had yet to beat out of them. They must have realized that they'd overstepped, because Headwind and Tailwind both murmured affirmatives as well, and fell into subdued silence.

Windknife's navigation ping led Skycross to an area of the city that had been the target of concentrated bombing in the past; all of the buildings had been knocked over, some melted into slag but most simply shattered and toppled to the ground, leading to a complex jumble of broken debris. Windknife had landed near the hulk of a fallen tower, his pale blue paint standing out from the shadows. He looked up as Skycross transformed and landed nearby.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I don't want to be any trouble ..."

"You're not," said Skycross, grinning. Thundercracker had told him that he needed to somehow secure his wingmates' respect, but how was he supposed to do that with a timid mech like Windknife? Skycross had decided to go for aggressive friendliness in hopes of getting his new wingmate to straighten up a bit. "What'd you find?"

Pointing down at the ground below the piece of junk they stood upon, Windknife said, "I, uh ... okay, um ... do you see those sheets of metal down there? This area, uh ... it, uh, it used to be a marketplace, and those sheets were parts of the vendor stalls ..." He cast Skycross a somewhat guilty look. "I mean, that's what I read in the histories ..."

"Okay," said Skycross. "But what did you find? What about them?"

"Well, they ... they're moved, I think?"

Skycross looked at the sheets of metal, scattered about the ground like thrown cards, the edges twisted and sharp. "How can you tell?" he asked, jumping down to the ground.

"I, um ... I took pictures, and the ... the way they're laying ... it doesn't match the picture for this area."

Skycross walked over to one of the sheets of metal that wasn't pinned down by anything else and grabbed the edge; it wasn't all that heavy, and he was able to lift it right up. A gear rat squeaked and scurried away, setting off his motion detectors, but under the sheet was simply more junk. "What do you mean, you took pictures?"

A clomp as Windknife jumped down behind him. "My, uh ... my first patrol, I thought ... I thought it would be helpful if I had a reference? So I made images of everywhere we patrolled, until, uh ... I had the whole perimeter imaged."

Turning a bit, Skycross frowned at his wingmate. "You have pictures of the _entire perimeter?"_

"Um ... yeah."

Skycross shook the metal in his hand. "And this junk is moved around?" It was hard to believe that anyone would waste memory space on something like that.

"Um ... not _that_ piece," said Windknife. He picked his way over the debris field until he got to a separate set of metal sheets. "These, over here. Do you want to see my picture? That piece there is slid over from where it used to be. I swear."

"No, that's all right." That area had a heat signature, but Skycross knew it was just an exhaust vent. Still ...

The footing was precarious as Skycross jumped across the bits of rubble to where Windknife indicated. The piece of junk in question was laying beside a second metal sheet; Skycross looked it over, but there was nothing out-of-the-ordinary about it, just a collapsed and twisted frame of some kind. Then he leaned down and lifted up the edge of this second metal sheet. 

It, too, pivoted easily, revealing a depression in the wreckage, filled with shadows. If someone else had lifted it just like this ... and the piece that Windknife said had moved had been on top of it ...

_"Sir,"_ said Skycross, on the private channel that Redline had given him, deciding that it was probably best not to say this in front of the wing, just in case Redline got annoyed. _"Windknife says that he made images of the entire area, and that this one piece of junk got moved. I can see how it might have happened, if someone lifted this other piece to get at the number 150-309 exhaust vent."_

_"... he has images of the entire area?"_

_"That's what he says, sir."_ Oops. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Redline was sure to think that it was a waste of memory, just like Skycross, but he had the authority to tell Windknife to wipe it all. Windknife wouldn't like that. _"Really, I can see how ..."_

_"Get back in the air,"_ said Redline curtly. _"I'll call it in."_

Ouch. Redline's tone was _not_ pleased. Skycross plastered a smile onto his face that he didn't feel, and told Windknife, "Good work. Redline is going to call it in. Continue your sweep."

"Right." Windknife leapt into the air without hesitation, transforming and veering off to return to his search pattern.

Before doing the same, Skycross glanced back down at the debris. The exhaust vents were extremely narrow, and well guarded; their only purpose was to provide some air flow, so that the underground portions of the base didn't become overheated. Only the tiniest mech could possibly fit down one, and then would swiftly set off the alarms, not to mention running afoul of the vent cleaners and security drones.

Uneasy, Skycross pulled the metal sheet aside again, flipping it over this time to get it completely out of the way. Even then, there was no direct line of sight down through the junk to the exhaust vent in the ground, but a little more pulling and yanking stuff out of the way fixed that.

The vent cover seemed undamaged, a sturdy grid welded against the top of the shaft; hot air blew steadily out the hole, smelling of fuel exhaust and hot metal and a hint of smoke. There was no sign that the cover might have been removed to admit a small mech, no bends or recent scratches. Dissatisfied, Skycross poked it a bit, and then gave up and tugged all the junk back into place over it.

It was nothing. The twins were right, it was just Windknife jumping at shadows. Skycross took back off into the air, transforming and resuming his own sweep.

He was halfway through his scan of sector five-one, logging in his wingmates' reports as they came in, when the base-wide alarm channel suddenly lit up. _"Autobots on approach, bearing two-eight-five, range zero-two-two-one-five mechanometers, altitude zero-zero-five-three-one mechanometers."_

_"I make four shuttles,"_ said a second voice.

_"Four shuttles,"_ confirmed the first.

_"Autobots on approach, bearing one-zero-seven, range zero-two-three-eight-seven mechanometers,"_ said a third. _"Altitude zero-zero-four-niner-niner mechanometers. Four shuttles."_

Charnel's voice rumbled across the channel. _"Arm the wall guns. All patrols return to base."_

_"I knew it,"_ warbled Windknife, as Skycross sent a navigation ping to his trine and turned around. _"I knew it, I knew it."_

_"This has nothing to do with you,"_ said Tailwind. _"Moved junk on the ground does not equate to shuttles."_

_"Yeah,"_ said Headwind. _"Not everything is about you."_

_"Quiet!"_ snapped Redline. _"Get in formation and be quiet!"_

Again, Redline's ire subdued the twins, and they both acknowledged and then went silent.

Shear and Windknife zeroed in on Skycross and fell in on his wingtips, Windknife visibly trembling. _What a useless Seeker,_ thought Skycross, despising his wingmate a little. If they ended up in combat, Windknife would probably just fall apart; how he'd survived this long was a mystery.

In that moment, Skycross really missed Streak. He hadn't been the greatest Decepticon ever, a middling flier and no smarter than Skycross, but he'd been a reliable and steady wingmate, good to have around in a scuffle. With him gone, there was nobody for Skycross to count on ... the twins seemed content as a pair, Shear had never liked him much, and Windknife kept giving off the impression that he was a borderline coward. And it wasn't as though Redline was ever going to think of his batch mechs as being anything but a burden on him.

A navigation ping from Redline gave Skycross the rendezvous point; above their flight line and about a quarter of the way around the base, the brilliant bolts of the cannons mounted on the base's protective wall began to fire, the light flashing across the broken landscape. The Autobot shuttles were still too far away to show up on Skycross's sensors, and he hoped they would all die that way, shot down at a distance the way his own wingmates had been shot down.

The cannons flashed six times, and then went quiet.

_"Still out of range,"_ said a mech over the alarm channel. _"No accuracy at this distance."_

Redline's trine arced in, and Skycross's trine broke apart so that the wing could re-form. Skycross took up station on Redline's right wingtip, one of the twins beside him and the other three Seekers in the third rank.

Abruptly, his channel with Redline snapped on. _"Was there anything else you or Windknife noticed about that exhaust vent?"_ asked Redline unexpectedly.

_"No, sir,"_ said Skycross. _"I sent Windknife to finish his sweep, and then I dug out the top of the vent, but it looked fine. It didn't look like anyone had tampered with it."_

A long pause, and then Redline said, _"When I logged it in with Deadfall, he took it more seriously than I expected."_

Oooh. That could be bad, if it turned out to be nothing. And if Redline caught flak for alerting base security to a false alarm, there was no reason to believe that he wouldn't pass it along to Skycross as the original source of the report.

The wing approached the Seeker gate for this side of the base, halfway up the defensive wall, and Skycross transmitted his trine's ident code; when Redline did the same, the gate opened. The wing broke apart, lining up single-file to fly through the narrow opening, but before Skycross could lead the wing inside a fresh navigation ping came across the wing channel.

_"New orders,"_ said Redline to he wing; the ping directed them up onto the top of the wall, and a moment later the reason for it came across the alarm channel.

_"Shuttles are landing,"_ said an unknown mech.

_"Landing on this side, too,"_ said another.

So the Autobots were going to come at them on foot, Skycross guessed, so that the wall guns would have a harder time targeting them. Still kind of stupid of them to announce their intentions by flying up to the perimeter in shuttles, but Autobots did a lot of stupid things sometimes.

Skycross glided up the wall and flipped as he cleared the rim, transforming and landing on his feet halfway between two cannon emplacements. His trine alighted next to him, and a moment later Redline and his trine landed on Skycross's other side.

Redline walked to the edge, looking down at the dark and shattered city, far below. After a moment, he gestured with his arm. "Spread out," he said. "Keep watch. If you see Autobots or anything suspicious, don't wait for orders. Attack first and ask questions later."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, and the rest of the wing echoed him. Redline went one way, Skycross went the other, and the remainder of the wing fanned out between them.

The rim of the wall was windswept and cold, and aside from the whistle of the wind nearly silent. Taking up position near one of the cannon emplacements, Skycross crouched down at the very edge of the wall, where he could see down the sheer face of it and scan from the base of the wall out to the edge of his sensor range.

There were no contacts in his range, other than a minor heat signature that he knew already was a scattering of uranium waste, and it was doubtful that the Autobots would make it this far anyway. If they did, though, what would it be like to see them? Watching Autobots move through a broken city that had once been their own ... would it be like seeing the ghosts of extinguished sparks?

Thundercracker had known Autobots before the war. Known them well enough for that one Autobot to know _him_ by name, although Rearview had apparently been under the impression that Thundercracker would prevent the other Decepticons from taking their pleasure of him so they couldn't have known each other _that_ well. Still.

Had Thundercracker spent a lot of time with Autobots? Had he interfaced with them? Had Rearview, perhaps, lain in Thundercracker's berth, the two of them jacked together, with the commander's voice pitched into that low rumble and encouraging him to touch himself?

_Primus._ Warmth spread out from Skycross's spark, but the mental image of Thundercracker with Rearview set off a strange sensation inside him. Strange and unpleasant, and although it made him somewhat angry to think about, he dwelled a bit on the image. Thundercracker, Skycross quickly decided, didn't belong with Autobots. Autobots didn't deserve more from Thundercracker than a cannon to the face.

Nothing pinged on Skycross's sensors to rouse him from his brooding, and the Decepticons who were dealing with the approaching Autobots carried out all their communications on restricted channels and out of Skycross's hearing. His wingmates kept their stations along the wall, crouched as Skycross was to stay braced against the gusting wind, and did not speak on the shared wing channel. However, after a couple of breems, the alarm channel snapped on, and a bored-sounding Decepticon spoke across it.

_"Close the blast doors,"_ he said.

A beat of silence, and then another spoke. _"Say again."_

_"Close the blast doors,"_ said the first one.

A third voice, excited. _"Autobots on level six! Close the fragging blast doors!"_

Skycross's fuel went cold in his lines. Autobots ... level six. Underground. Coming into the base _underground._

_"Frag,"_ said Redline, over the wing channel, and he sounded about how Skycross felt.

_"Close the blast doors,"_ said Charnel. _"Do it."_

Skycross looked down at the wall under his feet. He felt nothing, so high above the surface, and heard nothing, but he knew that underground the closing of the blast doors that sealed off the base's underground entry points would be deafening. The mechanisms that held up the doors would be destroyed by charges, dropping the heavy and explosive-resistant doors into place, and the doors would not be raised again without significant physical effort. The hallways that they sealed were narrow, in order to make it difficult to bring that physical effort to bear.

It would be a batch mech job, Skycross realized abruptly, raising those doors again after this attack had been beaten off.

_"Blast doors are not responding, six-one-four-niner,"_ said another Decepticon over the alarm channel.

_"That's where they're coming in,"_ said the first one. His voice was still calm, almost apathetic.

_"Six-one-four-niner guard post has been taken out,"_ said another Decepticon. _"We have the Autobots pinned down for the moment but there are more coming in, I make at least a couple dozen, probably over a hundred, and some of them are really small. They're trying to flank us through the vent shafts."_

_"I knew it,"_ whispered Windknife, and this time the twins were silent.

Listening to the chatter over the alarm channel made Skycross's systems shift into combat mode, his battle computer warming up and his fuel system diverting extra power into his weapons and engines. It made him jittery; he wanted to fight.

Charnel's voice again broke into the channel. _"Stormwhip, Black Ice, take your squads to Crosshair's position. Thundercracker, go with them. I want four batch wings on those shuttles on the surface. All other personnel to emergency defensive stations, scenario eight-seven, focus six-one-four-niner."_

Skycross knew the scenario immediately, even before his battle computer provided it for him: aliens infiltrating the base underground. They'd run this scenario a few times, in exercises, but Skycross had never taken it all that seriously; Seekers fought in the skies, not below the surface.

Probably, he should have paid more attention to it.

_"We're heading down,"_ said Redline, and Skycross could see him at the other end of the wing's position, running across the wall to the inner lip. _"Someone else is getting the shuttles."_

_"Yes, sir,"_ said Skycross immediately, along with the rest of the wing, although he was not too keen about going underground. He wished that _they_ were one of the batch wings handling the shuttles, but it was apparently not to be.

Redline jumped off the wall, transforming as he fell, and the wing followed him, skimming down the sloping inner face; Skycross was the last to jump, since Redline had been the first.

He didn't really want to fight underground, but he did want to _fight;_ Windknife, directly ahead of him as they dived down the wall, had the blades on his wings extended and flashing silver in the contrasting light. The base below them was a roil of activity, mechs running and flying across it to get to their stations, and spotlights mounted on the wall and around the base began to switch on, illuminating much of the surface.

Skycross's battle computer tagged no Autobots on the ground. Whole squadrons were racing down into the primary subsurface tunnel, but that was not the intended destination for Skycross's wing. Three-quarters of the way down the wall Redline veered off, heading for one of the secondary tunnels. Skycross's battle computer flagged it as it came into view; that was their assigned access point.

_"I want no friendly fire incidents,"_ said Redline as he transformed again to land at the entrance to the tunnel. It was a black open mouth at the base of the defensive wall, its interior lights too dim to compete with the spotlight that shone directly upon it. _"You watch what you're shooting before you shoot it. Tailhook says that some of these Autobots are tiny, as big as your hand. We have nobody that small on base, so if you see a gear-rat-sized mech, you shoot it. Otherwise, you verify that what you're looking at is an Autobot before you fire."_

Skycross acknowledged the order as he came in for a landing, wondering if there had been a problem with that recently.

Redline was already down in the tunnel by the time Skycross was on the deck, and although Windknife was twitching a little he went down into the tunnel ahead of Skycross without any hesitation. The access tunnel dipped sharply downward, going down one level immediately and then cutting into the wall, passing through the first curtain via a narrow gate that the Seekers had to turn sideways to get through. Beyond the gate and beneath the wall proper it opened back up again, echoing with clangs and distant shouts.

Skycross had never particularly liked being underground, but he was almost shaking with his readiness to fight and he trotted at the rear of his wing with eagerness. Motion caught the corner of his optic, and he whipped one cannon to bear, but there was nothing there.

Windknife stopped when Skycross did, looking back, and ducked to the side as the muzzle of Skycross's weapon came dangerously close to pointing at his head. "Uh ..." he said, fidgeting.

"Sorry," said Skycross, lowering his arm, sheepish at his carelessness.

The pale blue Seeker didn't say anything, just turned back around and ran after the rest of the wing. Skycross followed him, feeling quite stupid. He was the wing-second; he shouldn't make such amateur mistakes.

Redline had stopped at an intersection; the concentric tunnel continued straight, with a spoke tunnel crossing it, and a locked access shaft recessed into one wall. As Windknife and Skycross caught up he gave them both a look, but didn't comment on them falling behind.

"The Autobots are five levels down and about three hundred mechanometers along the north curve," he said, sending out a navigation ping over the wing channel. Somewhere ahead of them, something exploded deep underground, and the walls and supports around them shivered. "We're almost the first ones in this section so we're going to split up here. Tailwind, Headwind, you take the access shaft straight down two levels, then go across to the next shaft and then take that down. That will put you on top of the Autobots. Coordinate with Daggerfall when you get close, or Deathcry if Daggerfall is down. Use emergency channel eight-eight-four-one-zero-six-two."

"Yes, sir," said both twins.

"Be careful, because you'll probably encounter some of those little ones before you reach the main Autobot position. If you do, you have to clean them out by any means necessary. They're getting behind our positions is the problem." Redline looked at Skycross. "Skycross, you and Windknife take the spoke tunnel east, then head down the switchback. The Autobot position is just north of the bottom point, but you should meet up with some Decepticons before then."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, eager to kill something.

"Yes, sir," said Windknife, sounding somewhat less eager.

"Again, watch for those little Autobots. Getting rid of them is your priority until you reach the Decepticon position somewhere in that switchback. I'm not able to verify who's leading that position, but I know there is one. Clear out whatever is behind it and meet up with it. Shear, you're with me."

"Yes, sir," said Shear.

Redline looked them over. "Don't get killed, and don't shoot one another or you're looking at a whipping at _best,"_ he said, his voice dire. "Go."

He took off down the tunnel, Shear on his heels; the twins moved to the access shaft and keyed it open.

"Come on," said Skycross, and he beckoned to Windknife as he turned down the spoke tunnel. East took him back inward toward the interior of the base, but the switchback tunnel that led downward wasn't that much farther in.

Windknife followed readily enough, but Skycross was a little wary of having such an indecisive mech as his backup; he wasn't sure he could count on Windknife to watch his back, and furthermore if he let Windknife get killed it would reflect very badly on him. He probably would have been better off by himself, but they both had their orders and there was nothing to be done now.

The switchback tunnels were designed to permit the easy transport of materials between levels, and as such were wide and high-ceilinged. Skycross keyed open the access gate and stepped into the tunnel warily, scanning intently for threats, but found nothing. No motion, no heat signatures, no comm or scanner sources.

Another explosion shook the tunnel, closer this time.

"Watch the overhead," said Skycross, and Windknife nodded, aiming one cannon upward. Not that Skycross actually expected Autobots to come upon them from above ... the Autobots were below them. It wouldn't hurt, though, and it meant that if Windknife twitched at nothing the way Skycross had earlier, he wouldn't shoot Skycross accidentally in the back.

Skycross took the lead, moving quickly down each straightaway, keeping his head down and peering around the hairpins cautiously before dashing down another straightaway. At the boundary to each level was a containment door, and Skycross scanned the other side as best he could before keying each one open; Windknife closed them once they had passed.

They descended three levels this way without incident; the sounds of battle grew louder as they descended, and the air began to sizzle with the smell of laser fire not too far off. All of Skycross's systems hummed with readiness, his battle computer actively scanning for and flagging possible entry points to the tunnel. Skycross ignored these at first, but as he paused at the containment door to the fifth level, looking up at one of the vents that his battle computer had just tagged for him, he thought about it.

Leaning close to Windknife, he murmured softly, "I'm going to start blowing those shafts, so those little Autobots can't use them to get behind us."

He pointed, and Windknife glanced at it. "How?"

"Cluster bomb," said Skycross. "I want you to go through the containment door ahead of me and be ready to shut it as soon as I throw it."

The look that Windknife cast him was doubtful, but the Seeker deferred to him. "Okay," said Windknife.

Skycross moved across the corridor to the vent, peering up at it. Set into the ceiling, the shaft was no bigger around than his hand; there were a lot of them around the underground levels, moving through the walls as a capillary network of air flow. Skycross had no idea how those small Autobots had bypassed the alarm system or avoided the security drones, or even how one got a spark crammed into a chassis small enough to fit into those tiny vents.

He shot the grille off the vent, glanced at Windknife to assure himself that the containment door had been opened, and then popped out a bomb and tossed it up into the vent. He made it almost all the way through the containment door before the bomb went off; made to destroy ground targets from the air, the bomb exploded in a deafening crack of noise that shook the walls and sent a rain of fire and shrapnel into the corridor.

Skycross ducked away from the blast, and a punishing shockwave of heat hit him in the back and knocked him over, accompanied by a sharp pain in one wing as a piece of shrapnel struck him. The door blocked part of the blast, though, and it was over in a moment, and no damage warnings lit up.

"Wow," said Windknife quietly. "Sorry, I didn't get the door shut in time."

"It's okay," said Skycross, picking himself up. He peered around behind himself; the vent had been blown apart, the ceiling panels warped around it and black smoke boiling across the ceiling. Without a detailed inspection Skycross couldn't say for sure if that had made the vent impassable, but it certainly looked destroyed. Silently congratulating himself, Skycross said, "Let's go."

Partway down the next straightaway there was another ceiling vent; Skycross blew that one up, too, and by getting around the hairpin before the bomb went off he did it without getting plinked by shrapnel this time. He thought himself quite clever for hitting on this idea, and wondered if the infrequent rumbles of explosions that he could hear elsewhere in the tunnels meant that other Decepticons were doing the same thing.

"Autobots," said Windknife, the only warning that Skycross got before a laser shot struck him in the leg.

Pain lanced up his knee and thigh as Skycross turned around and began firing; colored shapes disappeared around the far corner as he shot at them. "Frag," he muttered, backing up against one of the walls to reduce his profile; across the hallway, Windknife did the same.

This was a bad place to get caught out - there was no cover whatsoever in the middle of the straightaway, whereas the Autobots were concealed by the hairpin. Skycross took a rapid assessment of the damage to his leg and discovered it wasn't all that bad. A ruptured fuel line, which his auto-repair had already closed off, and a bit of damaged motor wiring which switched to the redundancy a moment after he discovered it. A shadow appeared at the edge of the corner, and Skycross fired at it to make it back off.

Windknife, meanwhile, crouched down closer to the ground and gestured with one hand. Skycross's comm clicked on.

_"Throw me one of your bombs,"_ said Windknife. _"I have a good angle."_

Now it was Skycross's turn for dubious looks. _"Are you sure? They only have a three-astrosecond delay."_

_"You can't make it longer?"_

_"Only if I set it to detonate on impact."_

_"Do I even want to know what you're doing?"_ asked Redline.

_"Uh ... uh, killing Autobots, sir,"_ said Windknife, his voice on the comm link going tremulous. _"I-is that okay?"_

_"Just don't blow yourselves up."_

_"We won't, sir,"_ said Skycross.

Windknife looked down toward the hairpin again, and hopped back to avoid a shot; Skycross strafed the corner to make the Autobot pull back again.

_"I can do it,"_ said Windknife. _"Throw it to me."_

_"Okay,"_ said Skycross. _"Ready?"_

Windknife beckoned. Skycross ejected a cluster bomb out into his hand and then in the same motion gave it a toss to Windknife; the other Seeker didn't even try to catch it, but instead gave it a powerful swat mid-air that sent it down the tunnel. Skycross heard it _clang_ against the far wall as it bounced around the corner, and then it exploded with a concussive shock and a ball of flame.

When the explosion dissipated Skycross could hear someone screaming in agony, and he raced down the straightaway to finish them off.

_"You two still alive?"_ asked Redline.

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Yes, sir,"_ said Skycross. He turned the corner to find a single Autobot, bright yellow and blue paint under charred black carbonization, blown half into pieces and with part of his chassis smoldering with flame. The Autobot was on his chest, but when Skycross came around the corner he was trying to roll over onto his back, no doubt so that he could bring his weapon up. Skycross kicked his hand to disarm him, and then stepped on his back to hold him steady.

Windknife came around the corner just as Skycross delivered five quick shots to the back of the Autobot's head. "That was the only one?" asked the pale Seeker.

"Looks like it," said Skycross. The Autobot went still; thick smoke curled up from his body as the fire began to eat into his interior insulation. Skycross cast his wingmate a grin. "You're pretty cool," he declared.

To Skycross's surprise Windknife recoiled a little, and the blades on his wings flared. "Uh ... uh, okay."

Undeterred, Skycross gave Windknife a companionable slap on the shoulder. "Come on," he said.

Behind the next containment door, Skycross could hear the sounds of fighting: clashing metal, shouts, the muffled hiss of laser fire. Thinking that he could crack the door open and use it for cover, Skycross bent over the control panel, wanting to set it so that it could only be controlled from their side, and was promptly shot again from behind.

Windknife whirled around and fired at the attacker, who was gone by the time Skycross turned.

"What the frag?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck. The shot hasn't been very powerful but it had been very _precise,_ hitting him at the base of the neck through a slight gap in his armor that had been exposed when he'd bent over. The wiring in his neck burned, as though it had been sprayed with acid; maybe it had been.

"It was one of those small ones," said Windknife. "It's in the vent shaft."

Oh, of course. Skycross frowned at the vent, and then back at the door. With one of those little Autobots behind them, the door would not be good cover, and anyway their orders were to clear the tunnel. He needed to blow the vent, but how could he do that without being able to go through the containment door to get out of the way?

Windknife walked up to the vent, pointing one of his guns up into it, and he fired a few times but frowned. "I can't see it up there," he said.

The containment door crunched, as something heavy was thrown into it from the other side; Skycross jerked but the door stayed closed. The burning pain in his neck wiring was starting to become severe, and he rubbed at the back of his neck again.

"What are we going to do?" asked Windknife.

Skycross glanced up at the vent, then up the straightaway toward the last hairpin. He switched on his comm. _"Our first priority is the Autobots in the vents,"_ he said. _"You go back up that way and get around the corner."_

Windknife looked up toward the hairpin, and then back at Skycross. _"You think you can get up there fast enough?"_

_"Sure,"_ said Skycross, although he wasn't all that certain.

"Okay," said Windknife aloud. He backed away from the vent, still aiming one gun up at the vent opening until Skycross took his place beneath it. Then he turned and took off back up the tunnel.

Skycross shot the grille off the vent, and then fired a few more shots somewhat vindictively up into it because the back of his neck was burning and that aggravated him. "That's just like Autobots," he said, as Windknife retreated. "They'll shoot you down out of the sky with wall guns, and they'll shoot you in the back, but as soon as you turn around or come closer they scamper off. Cowards, every one of them. You hear me up there, Autobot? You're a _coward_ just like all your kind."

There was no response from the Autobot, and Skycross couldn't be sure what with the noise coming from behind the containment door but he thought he could hear it tapping around up there. Checking to make sure Windknife was safely around the corner, Skycross lit his engines, bounced a bit to ensure that he was getting some lift from his heels, and threw a bomb up into the vent.

Even with the engine assist he couldn't get all the way up the corridor to the hairpin before the bomb went off, and the shock of it knocked him off his feet and sent him skidding into the wall; he slammed hard, shoulder-first, and agony shredded up his left wing.

As the shock and noise passed, he slumped to the floor. "... frag," he said, in great pain, unwilling at first to move.

"You okay?" Steps approached.

"Yeah," said Skycross. Oh, he did _not_ want to move. He hurt all over, and critical damage warnings about his wing accompanied the cramping pain. This was all that Autobot's fault. All of it. He couldn't decide if he hoped the Autobot was still alive and in as much pain as he was, or dead.

He couldn't just lay on the floor, though ... he could still hear the muffled sounds of combat on the other side of the containment door. Decepticons were fighting in there, and he and Windknife needed to join them. So he rolled over a bit, and when Windknife offered a hand Skycross took it, and let the other Seeker help him to his feet.

Once he was upright he looked over at his wing; it had been bent sharply backward at his shoulder, and the top edge was crushed along with part of his shoulder armor. "Oh, _frag_ it!" He reached over to touch it, with the vague thought that maybe he could bend it back into the right shape, but it hurt too much; he hissed and yanked his hand back.

"Ouch," said Windknife, wincing in sympathy. "So, uh ... what do we do now?"

Skycross's neck was still burning; whatever that Autobot had shot into there wasn't doing enough injury to flag his damage control subsystem, but it was sure as frag enough to _hurt_ like the _Pit._ He kind of hurt all over now, in fact, even the parts of him that _hadn't_ been crumpled by slamming into that wall. "Now," he said, anger rising. "Now we kill some Autobots."

"Right," said Windknife. "You know, though ... I wonder how that other Autobot got up where he did."

Skycross gave his wingmate a questioning look, to which Windknife gestured at the containment door. "That's locked, isn't it? How did that normal Autobot get past it?"

That was a good question, but before Skycross could think about it too much, it answered itself; another heavy object slammed into the containment door, and then it unexpectedly began to roll open.

Windknife and Skycross sprinted around the corner as several mechs backed through the doorway and into their part of the tunnel, exchanging laser fire with another group farther down. Skycross peered around the corner, taking aim with one shoulder gun.

Four mechs with their backs to the Seekers retreated through the containment door; one of them glanced over his shoulder as they went but apparently did not notice Skycross, and another was dragging a limp fifth mech across the floor. They were all about Autobot sized and lightly armored, but - mindful of his orders - Skycross held his fire.

One of the mechs moved to the containment door controls and started to shut the door, and Skycross lowered his weapon when he saw the purple insignia on the mech's shoulder.

"Decepticons," he whispered to Windknife.

A moment later the containment door rolled shut.

"How long will that hold them?" asked one of the mechs. Then Skycross and Windknife stepped around the corner, and all four of the upright Decepticons raised their weapons.

"Seekers," said one.

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. As he and Windknife walked forward, the other four Decepticons lowered their weapons. They were all of a similar type, a slender frame that Skycross didn't recognize, with only light arms mounted into their wrists and forearms; Skycross couldn't for the life of him tell what their altmodes would be. "Designation Skycross, wing-second for the zero-two-six batch wing, under Redline. This is my wingmate, Windknife. We've cleared the switchback of Autobots, and our orders are to join up with your group."

"Yes, sir," said the Decepticon, to Skycross's confusion.

One of the four had crouched to look over the fallen Decepticon. "Glider's had it," he said, starting to strip the fallen Decepticon of weapons and ammunition.

The other Decepticon paused a moment. "Right," he said, and then turned back to Skycross. "Sir. Your orders?"

Orders? "I'm just a batch mech," said Skycross, wondering if maybe the other Decepticons couldn't tell because of the damage and the smoke that had gotten onto his armor when he'd blown up the three vents. Absently, he rubbed the back of his neck; the burning sensation had stopped increasing, but was not letting up.

"Yes, sir," said the Decepticon. "My designation is Deadflow, this is Subdue, Spinner and Void. Orders, sir?"

When Skycross, still confused, wondered how to react to this, his comm clicked on.

_"They're camp followers,"_ said Windknife. _"We, uh ... technically we outrank them."_

_"We do?"_ Camp followers - and now that Windknife had said that, Skycross could see that he was right - weren't even in the chain of command. How could Skycross outrank a mech not in the chain of command?

_"Yeah,"_ said Windknife. _"In combat situations, they take a nominal rank and fall under the command of any ... uh, non-camp follower on the scene."_

_"That explains why I couldn't find out who was in charge,"_ said Redline. _"Skycross, take command, but they probably know more about the situation than you do. Let the leader 'suggest' a course of action for you and then do that."_

_"Yes, sir,"_ said Skycross. That, at least, he felt he could do. "So, uh ... Deadflow," he said aloud. "What's the situation?"

"At least seven Autobots behind that door," said Deadflow. "Possibly more. I made two scout-sized mechs, four of close to Seeker-size, and one brute that barely fit into the tunnel. As soon as they get that one around, he'll be breaking that containment door."

Well. It was a good thing that Skycross didn't have to decide what to do, because he had no clue. "What do you suggest?" he asked.

"We have to hold them at the door, sir," said Deadflow.

"If they get through here, we'll have to fall back to the next door," added Spinner. "And then they'll just go through that one."

"Keep them from getting their big mech into position," said Deadflow. He gestured at the door, and at the controls. "Open it a little, use it for cover. And we have to do it now, before they get rearranged in the tunnel."

"Hey, that's what _we_ were thinking of doing!" said Skycross, delighted that Deadflow's _suggestion_ tracked so well with his and Windknife's original plans. "We were going to use the door as cover to help you guys out. Let's do that!"

"Yes, sir," said Deadflow. "Spinner."

"Right." Spinner moved to the door controls.

Skycross recognized that he and Windknife were better armored than any of the camp followers, and probably better armed, so he beckoned to his wingmate and moved to the side of the door where it would open. "Hey, how many bombs do you think this door can withstand?" he asked, to nobody in particular.

"Depends," said Void. He took up station behind Skycross, where he'd be able to fire under the Seeker's crumpled wing. "What kind of bomb, sir?"

"Cluster bomb," said Skycross, turning his arm to display the launcher. "I have four left."

"I dunno," said Windknife, crouching next to Skycross's leg.

"Probably not more than two," said Deadflow. "If you throw one, make it count, or get it into the hairpin. Ready?"

"Do it," said Skycross.

The door cracked open, and Skycross started shooting through the crack before he took note of what was happening on the other side. The Autobots - who seemed to be largely just standing around, looking at something out of sight around the hairpin - reacted fast and dove to the side, but Skycross caught one in the chest, and another was downed by two successive hits to the leg. The damaged Autobots were grabbed by their comrades and hauled out of sight around the corner, and moments later Skycross was obliged to duck back to avoid getting shot in the face by return fire.

"Keep their heads down, sir," said Deadflow. "They'll have a hard time getting that big Autobot into position in the hairpin. They'll have to move back to the straightaway, and when they do we can move up."

Skycross, who had yet to see this _big_ Autobot, wondered just how big he was. "Do you know if anyone is behind them?"

"There's a lot of fighting in the tunnels, sir," said Deadflow. "No way to know where the lines are now. I don't have access to the main channels."

Neither did Skycross; he knew the channel frequencies, but didn't have any of the encryption codes they used. "So if we push them back, we might push them back into more Decepticons, or back into more Autobots."

"Either one is better than them getting control of this tunnel and gaining access to more levels."

An Autobot peeked around the corner and then just as quickly ducked back when Windknife shot at him, and for several kliks there was nothing more from the Autobots. Skycross could hear them moving about, and speaking too softly to make out, and then he heard the groan of metal and a heavy step, probably from that _big_ Autobot. The acid burning the back of his neck and the aching crumple in his wing made him fret, annoyed him, made him want to fight and hurt someone in retaliation for how much _he_ hurt.

"Let's attack them," he said.

"What?" said Void, incredulous.

"Why?" asked Deadflow.

"All they're doing is getting themselves into position to attack us, right?" said Skycross. "We should disrupt that. They won't expect it."

"That's because it's suicidal!" said Subdue.

A rough tap on the back of Skycross's uninjured shoulder drew his attention; Windknife was behind him, and as Skycross watched he reached up under his wings and pulled out a pair of blades.

"Here," said Windknife, offering them. "It'll be too close for guns."

"Are you serious?" asked Deadflow.

Skycross took the blades; at first glance they appeared to be simple sharpened alloy, but there was a stud on each hilt that, when pressed, made the edges light up with energon. "Awesome," he said, thrilled, and switched them on and off a few times as Windknife yanked out another pair for himself.

"You're crazy," said Spinner. "We can't just _storm_ those Autobots!"

"Stay here, then," said Skycross. "I don't care." He twitched, hurting and annoyed with the camp followers' unwillingness. "Open the door."

Spinner, still at the controls, gave him a look, but Deadflow shrugged and nodded. Shaking his head, Spinner keyed the door to open wider.

Skycross barreled through it the moment there was enough space for him, firing ahead in order to keep the Autobots behind cover. With Windknife behind him he dashed around the corner into the hairpin and, not stopping to assess the situation, threw himself into the knot of Autobots.

If considered by his goal of taking the Autobots by surprise and doing something they didn't expect, Skycross's attack was a complete success. He had a instant to appreciate the stunned looks on their faces just before he plowed into one of the smaller Autobots and kicked him to the floor.

"What the ..." said one of them, just as they all turned on him.

Skycross whirled and slashed with his blades, catching one Autobot across the chest and taking another one's hand off, while Windknife ducked under a larger Autobot's punch and then stabbed the Autobot in the abdomen. Their advantage was quickly lost, however, when the other small Autobot leaped onto Skycross's back and yanked hard on his injured wing. As he howled in pain and anger, and raised his arm to shoot an Autobot point-blank in the face, another Autobot shot _him,_ knocking his leg out from under him and sending him to the floor with the small Autobot on top of him.

"Fragging Decepticon," said the Autobot on his back, yanking again on his wing, and then Skycross heard and felt the small Autobot standing, probably in preparation to shoot him dead. Skycross, not as injured as the Autobot apparently thought he was and furious at all the pulling on his damaged wing, pushed himself upright and stabbed at where he thought the Autobot was. He swiped air, and was immediately face-down on the floor again, dazed, his head ringing and one of his air inlets numb.

The next indeterminate period of time passed in a stupor of pain and warnings and the bewildered stuttering of his processors, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled up to his feet.

"You okay?" He knew that voice. He looked around, unsure what was going on; he was standing in what appeared to be an empty underground corridor, with the sounds of fighting echoing up it.

"Yeah," he lied. He tripped, almost slipped and fell again, but caught up against a wall. "What's going on?"

"You're an idiot, that's what," said someone else. "Sir." Skycross wasn't sure he knew that voice, and when he looked around again he still didn't see anyone.

Then he was pulled around to put his back to the wall and his field of view changed, and suddenly he could see all the mechs talking to him. "Oh," he said. "You were behind me."

"Are you sure you're okay?" said the pale blue Seeker holding him up. Yeah, Skycross knew him. He was a good mech. "You got kicked pretty hard."

Was he? Skycross glanced behind the Seeker, at the four unfamiliar mechs who had apparently taken possession of the corridor, alertly aiming their small weapons around the hairpin. "Yeah, I'm okay," said Skycross. Then something rebooted inside his processors, and memory started to come back. "Windknife."

"Yeah," said Windknife.

"Yeah," echoed Skycross. He gave the corridor another look, remembering more. "What happened to the Autobots?"

"We killed two, I think," said Windknife. "Can't be sure because they took the chassis with them when they retreated."

"They almost killed _you,_ sir," said one of the unfamiliar mechs. Deadflow, Skycross remembered. "But we ran them off."

"Yeah," said Windknife. "Deadflow and his mechs helped me run them off."

Skycross nodded, still not quite up to speed. "So ... it worked," he said, as he tried to make sense of what they were saying. "The surprise attack worked."

"Yeah," said Deadflow. "I suppose it did, sir. It helped that that big Autobot wasn't here, though."

Big ... oh yeah. Skycross had never seen the _big_ Autobot; he hadn't really thought about it when he'd jumped into battle, but the only mechs in the hairpin had been regular-sized Autobots.

"Now what?" asked Windknife.

Good question. Skycross pulled away from Windknife, who gave him another of those dubious looks but let him go, and raised one arm before staggering the rest of the way around the hairpin. There was nobody in the straightaway; the access gate halfway down was wide-open and the sounds of fighting came through it, but the Autobots were gone.

Lowering his gun and leaning back against the wall near the corner, hurting everywhere and still feeling like he was missing something, Skycross said, "Now, we go kill more Autobots."

The opinions of his small force of Decepticons to this rather-vague plan of action were never voiced. Deadflow turned toward Skycross, an expression of irritation on his face, and then the wall next to Skycross's shoulder exploded.

The impact blew Skycross sideways with crushing force and a deafening noise, slamming him down as though he weighed nothing; his body crunched as part of the wall smashed him between itself and the floor. For a moment, Skycross felt nothing ... then for another moment he felt only the most agonizing pain that he'd ever known, screaming agony in every limb, every component, up every wire and down every cable, possibly even extending _outside_ his chassis entirely, right down to his very spark. Then another impact caused the wall on top of him to crush him further, and in horrific pain Skycross's processors flashed final, critical warnings before dropping offline.


	7. part seven

_five million years - part 7_

Pain, terrible pain. Sounds. Rhythmic. Waxing and waning. Irregular clicking. Humming and buzzing. Pain, more and then less and then more. Unease, something was wrong, direly wrong.

Another of his processors booted, and he became aware that he'd been online for some time, and just hadn't known it. His optics were already up - he didn't remember when that had happened - and he stared dully down at a dirty floor, splattered in oil and energon. The rhythmic sounds resolved into voices. He listened to the ebb and flow of them for a while, soothed by the cadence of them, without really comprehending what they were saying; the sound of them made the pain easier to endure.

For a long time that was all there was, speech and clicking and pain, and then two more processors booted up, one after the other, and a list of warnings scrolled across his vision.

One of the voices came closer, speaking more loudly.

"Seeker," it said. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes," he said. Oh, he hurt. With greater awareness came greater awareness of the pain.

"State your designation."

His ... what?

The voice waited, and then repeated with a harsher tone, "State your designation, Seeker!"

He had no answer for that, and did not try to give one. After a moment the voice moved back again. "I think that's a no to the memory tables."

"Look at this. This piece is actually loose."

"Shut him back down."

Everything went black.

An indeterminate amount of time later, he once again became gradually aware of being online, but the boot cascade went faster this time and the warnings came up almost immediately. The warning list was headed by several critical alerts, and he _hurt_ so _much._ Everywhere, he hurt.

Once again, a voice nearby said, "Seeker. State your designation."

His ... yes. "Skycross," he said.

"State your position and commanding officer."

He had to think about that one, staring at the smeared oil and energon on the floor, and then he noticed that some of the smears looked kind of like a squareish footprint and he started to wonder why there was an oily footprint on the floor directly in his field of view.

"Seeker! I _order_ you to state your position and commanding officer!"

... oh yeah. "... wing-second," he said, finally. "Number zero-two-six batch wing. Under ... under ... under Redline. Sir."

"That's accurate," said another voice.

"Okay. Mark this one for room twelve. Arrest his self-repair and put him on external direction. Status on the next one?"

The voices moved farther away, leaving him to himself and his pain and that smeared footprint. Why was there a footprint on the floor? Where was he? What was happening? Why did he hurt so badly?

He had no answers, but that didn't bother him very much. He hurt, he hurt _everywhere,_ a terrible aching burning pain, in his legs and arms, in a stripe up his back, in his chassis, in his spark. But the pain didn't bother him all that much, either; it was a fact of his world. He endured in silence, unaware of any way to make it less, or make it stop.

Presently footsteps approached him, and then the floor moved, the mysterious footprint tilting away and out of his field of view. He wondered about that, the floor sliding before his optics, moving ... no, _he_ was the one moving. He was being moved from his previous location, the place with the smeared footprint, to somewhere else.

"... what?" he said finally.

"Don't talk," said another voice, different from the first two, from somewhere close behind him. "Save your energy. You're badly damaged."

Given this directive, he obeyed without question and didn't try to say anything else. After a bit more travel he was parked somewhere with a clean, unmarked floor, and then there was more clicking and a sudden expansion of the pain in the back of his head; another critical warning lit up in his display. After that the footsteps moved away.

All around him was the almost-subliminal whir of active internal systems, and somewhere in the middle distance was the pained clacking of a damaged vocalizer; the understanding slowly developed that he was surrounded by mechs, probably all of them injured just as he was. None of them spoke or made much sound other than that clacking, and he simply lay in mute pain for long enough to get monumentally bored.

To try to pass the time somewhat, he first looked over his damage list. The top, most critical, most urgently flashing warning had to do with his damage control self-repair system. It wasn't working properly; it had been hijacked by an outside program and was being forced to direct all its efforts to his processors and his spark chamber. He couldn't see anything particularly wrong with that - certainly nothing warranting the urgent flashing - so he deprioritized the warning just to get rid of it and looked over the rest.

He was ... badly injured, just like that unknown mech had said. The next-highest priority warnings had to do with some processor damage that he didn't understand, and from there it went down the line, covering almost every system and almost every sector of his chassis, right down to the crushed fingers on his left hand. His frame seemed to be okay aside from some warping in the struts that made up his shoulder girdle, and despite the directive being imposed on his self-repair system his spark chamber was reported as completely undamaged.

That was almost the only thing that _was_ undamaged.

No wonder he hurt everywhere.

How did he get like this?

His mind slowly cleared as he went through the list, and as he thought about it some things began to come back to him. The massive explosion right next to him. Being thrown to the floor. A second impact that had crushed the wall down onto him. The memories were fractured and came in discrete pieces, unconnected from one another.

He was lucky he'd survived long enough to be recovered from the wreckage.

Or was it luck? A scrap of a recollection came to him, of waking up entombed under the wall, in agony, someone nearby making broken sounds of unbearable pain.

He'd chanted a prayer before losing consciousness again. Pleading to Primus to help him. Promising wordless things. Then there was a gap in his memory, awareness picking up again with the sound of voices and clinking metal, and a smeared footprint in spilled energon and oil.

Was it luck, then? Or had it been the hand of the god?

_Primus keep me._

Despite the constant, aching, throbbing pain, he felt warm, and very safe.

* * *

Skycross had never spent more than a couple of cycles in the repair complex before, and it soon became unutterably boring. 

As greater consciousness became available to him he tried to lift his head to look around; he knew that there were other mechs nearby, because he could hear them humming with life, and he was curious as to who they were. Whether or not they were conscious. If they were interested in maybe having a conversation. This was how he discovered that he was utterly unable to move.

He was laying face-down and at a slight angle, his gaze aimed at the floor in front of him, his arms to either side of his head and his legs spread, splayed out into an incredibly vulnerable position. It was uncomfortable, and not just because it meant that anybody could come do anything to him; it felt like there was something pressing on a couple of spots on his chassis, holding up his weight. It was painful, and he had the idea that if he could shift a little bit, move his weight to other points, it would hurt less.

But he couldn't move. He could feel his actuators trying to extend and contract, but this resulted in absolutely no motion whatsoever. It wasn't like he was tied down; any bindings would have had at least a small bit of give. Rather, it was like his frame had been welded to something immobile. He could move his optics, look around to the limit of his field of view, and wiggle the undamaged fingers on his right hand, and that was about it.

After spending some time being irritated about this, Skycross gave up. Trying to move hurt marginally more than remaining relaxed, and it wasn't doing anything to cure either his helplessness or his boredom. What he really needed was someone to talk to. 

"Hey," he said, to no one in particular.

No one replied.

"Hey," said Skycross again. "What's up? What's going on?"

Silence, except for the broken clacking and the hum of internal systems.

"I am so bored. We're still on base, aren't we?" The floor looked like the flooring in the base repair complex, but Skycross had exactly zero experience with Autobot facilities, so he supposed they might use the same alloy. "Am I the only one conscious or what? This really bites. I hope we won that fight. Well, I guess we must have, otherwise I'd have been left to die."

"Shut up," moaned a rough-sounding voice from some distance away.

"Aren't you bored?" asked Skycross.

"I'm in pain. And if you don't shut up, I'll make sure you're in _more_ pain than I am."

"Thank you," said a second voice.

"I'll help," said a third.

Skycross scowled unhappily, but went silent; there was no way he could defend himself if the other mech proved capable of carrying through on the threat.

His next thought was to check his comm link, even though he had no agreed-upon channels for personal friends anymore ... except for Thundercracker, of course, and Skycross wouldn't have dared bother him. But he could request a private frequency from Windknife over the wing channel. He kind of wanted to have a chat with his new wingmate; the mech had really exceeded his expectations, and had proven Skycross's first impressions totally wrong.

However, a quick check of his comm link proved that it was, of course, broken as well, and with his self-repair under the control of some alien program Skycross could not set any resources to fix it.

This was extremely frustrating. Why had someone 'jacked his damage control system? It was _his_ system and he should be able to triage it however he liked. He wanted his comm link to at least be analyzed to see if it could be internally repaired, and he couldn't even do that much.

Once again Skycross tested his range of motion and once again he found that he could not move even a micron in any direction.

Well, once he got out of this, he was going to take Windknife out for drinks. The mech had probably gotten hurt much the same as he had, and even though that wasn't Skycross's fault, he'd been in command and so he felt kind of bad about it. He'd make it up to his wingmate, and in the process he'd make a new friend for drinking and scuffling purposes.

Skycross spent some time wondering how Windknife developed that timorous demeanor, since it had dropped pretty quickly once they'd started fighting together. Maybe it was because the twins kept teasing him, or maybe the twins had started teasing him because of his shyness. Skycross didn't know if the last wing the three of them had shared had been Windknife's first; that information would be in the pale Seeker's service record but Skycross hadn't paid attention to that part when reviewing it. He still had the records, of course, so he'd have to check that when he got out of repair.

Regardless, the twins were wrong about Windknife, and Skycross had been wrong about him, too. He wasn't a near-coward who jumped at shadows; he was capable fighter with both skill and sense, and just a really bad way of comporting himself. And, since he was so easy to misread, he didn't have any friends as far as Skycross knew.

Skycross wanted to be Windknife's first real friend. He wanted to earn true loyalty from his wingmate. Real loyalty was hard to find, but that only made it that much more valuable when obtained. He would be Windknife's first real friend, taking him out to do things, spending time with him, making sure nobody picked on him beyond what was normal for batch mechs, and in exchange Windknife would be grateful and watch Skycross's tail.

Pleased with this plan, Skycross started to think up ways to get the twins off his new buddy's back without having to resort to his own very-questionable position of authority over them, but was soon startled out of his thoughts by someone saying, directly over him, "Wow, Skycross, you look like slag."

That wasn't Thundercracker's voice, nor Redline's, nor that of any of his wingmates. Skycross tried to turn his head to see who was addressing him, but of course he couldn't move his head any more than his limbs. He hadn't heard anyone approach, but he'd been pretty intent on his planning.

"Who is that?" he asked.

A warm chuckle. "Shadow Flame."

Oh. "Hello, sir," said Skycross.

"Don't call me that," said the other mech. "It's so formal."

"Yes, sir."

Another chuckle, as Shadow Flame moved away. A moment later there was a metallic rattle, of something being dragged closer, and Skycross became very alarmed.

"What are you doing, sir?" he asked, nervous.

"Just getting a seat. Take it easy, you're fine." More rattling as Shadow Flame moved his chair into position, and then a creak when he sat down. "It's a little disconcerting, being on the rack, I know. This your first time?"

"I guess," said Skycross, having no idea what that even meant.

"Well, I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I'm here to guard you."

Shadow Flame sounded very smug, and Skycross wasn't sure what to make of that.

"Yes, sir," he said, after a moment of awkward silence.

"You really are thoroughly slagged," said Shadow Flame, his tone speculative. "Look at you, you're a mess."

Something touched Skycross's back and it was _agonizing._ He clamped down on a whimper.

"I heard you got caught by one of the Autobot bombs," said Shadow Flame, and the sharp pain eased. "You certainly look like it."

How had he heard that? "I ... guess so, sir," said Skycross. He really wished he could move. What was Shadow Flame doing here? It made him jittery, having this Decepticon, this near-stranger, hovering over him when he was so helpless. Why was he locked down this way, anyway? He hoped that the other Seeker didn't repeat whatever he'd done that had hurt so terribly, but there was nothing Skycross could do to stop him if he decided to be cruel.

"I guess you haven't heard anything about that yet." Shadow Flame's voice again shaded into insufferable smugness. "They pulled you out, sent you straight to repair, and you've just been kicking back in holding since, haven't you? You're going to be here a while, too. It's going to be _megacycles_ before you get out of here, believe me."

"What?" Skycross wasn't sure how long he'd been here already - he had gaps in his memory, and with his comm down his chronometer hadn't re-synchronized with base time - but he knew he wouldn't be able to handle megacycles of hanging motionless! His processors would crack first! Not to mention how much he _hurt._ "Why?"

"Well, they're still pulling mechs out of the wreckage down there. Once they get all the survivors stabilized, they'll start doing reconstructive work, but there are a _lot_ of mechs needing reconstructive work."

And Skycross, as a batch mech, would be at the rear of the repair queue. Frag. "I see," he said.

"Indeed," said Shadow Flame. "So I expect you haven't heard anything about what's going on, right?"

"No, sir." That sounded like an offer to tell him, but Skycross couldn't figure out what this Seeker was doing here, and given the earlier reception to his conversational foray he was getting kind of nervous at the length of this chat. "But, uh ... that is ... the other mechs in here told me to be quiet when I tried to talk to them earlier. I don't, uh ... really want to get beat up."

"Don't worry about that," said Shadow Flame. "I'm a lot less injured than anyone else in here. Even if one of these wrecks managed to stand up, I wouldn't let him touch you."

"That doesn't mean I won't trash you once I'm repaired," growled another Decepticon. It sort of sounded like the same grouchy one from before.

"Anytime, Slipwater. You know where to find me."

The Decepticon grumbled, but didn't say any more.

"... you're injured?" asked Skycross. He wasn't sure what had just happened, with Shadow Flame and the other Decepticon, but he was kind of cheered by it nevertheless.

"Of course. If I wasn't, I would be down helping to clear the tunnels. I'm not a _shirker."_ Shadow Flame gave this term the disgusted scorn it deserved. "But I've snapped a few key cables, and I can't lift anything heavier than my own hands at the moment. So I've been signed out of duty until I'm repaired."

"I didn't mean to imply that, sir!" said Skycross. Oh, _slag._ Shadow Flame sounded amused, which was good, but that he'd put that spin on Skycross's question was not. "I would _never_ say that about you!" Or anyone, especially when he was utterly unable to move.

"You're so cute!" said Shadow Flame, sounding delighted. "I can see why the commander favors you ... are you always this adorable?"

"Um ..." Skycross was somewhat offended by this question, but he could hardly say that to a much higher-ranking regular Decepticon. "Ah ..."

"I wish I'd known that batch mechs were so cute before," said Shadow Flame. "I'd have wanted you for my _own_ pet if I had. But enough about that. Are you interested in the latest news, or not? If you don't want me here, I can go, and leave you here to contemplate your own mortality or whatever it was you were doing before."

The other Seeker's voice lilted with the words, as though he knew what Skycross was going to say, and that very fact made Skycross want to be contrary and say that he didn't want company. However, the alternative was to be alone with his thoughts and Skycross had had about enough of those already.

"... that's okay, sir," said Skycross. "If you want to stay ... I, uh, I'm pretty bored otherwise."

"That's what I thought," said Shadow Flame, and perhaps Skycross's response _had_ been inevitable. "So anyway. They're still sorting out the wreckage, but the theory is that the Autobots wanted to weaken the curtain wall. So they sent in a bunch of their mechs wired up with about as much explosive as a mech can carry. A couple of the wired mechs were really big, so they had a _lot_ of explosive." Shadow Flame paused. "I'm not really convinced that that was their _plan,_ though. That's what all the groundpounders are saying, but it's not really like an Autobot to design a suicide mission. _I_ think that the suicide part was impromptu, if you know what I mean. That they intended to set the explosives and get out, but we were onto them a little too quick and they had to improvise."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, when Shadow Flame paused again. He didn't know what else to say, since he didn't know anything about Autobots at all.

"They didn't succeed, by the way," said Shadow Flame. "In case you're worried that you got slagged for nothing. None of the big load-bearing columns were seriously damaged. I heard that Charnel is going to replace one column just to be on the safe side, but it's just a precaution. You did a good job, batch mech. You helped save the base."

Skycross had _no_ idea what to say to that. "I, uh ... I guess ..."

"I heard you fell for the withdrawal," said Shadow Flame, his voice dropping to a sly inflection. "Is that true?"

"Um ... what do you mean, sir?"

"The Autobots," said Shadow Flame. "Right before they detonated the explosives, they orchestrated a controlled pull-back. A lot of Decepticons followed them into the kill zone. I heard you were one of them. Is it true?"

Was it? Skycross's memories from the moments immediately prior to the explosion were broken, and everything he remembered between the charge on the Autobot position and the explosion itself was disordered and full of clutter. He had the impression that he'd gotten injured somehow, before the explosion, but he couldn't recall chasing an Autobot retreat. "I ... don't think so, sir," he said, but he wasn't sure, and his uncertainty came out in his tone.

"Hmmm. Maybe I heard wrong ..." Shadow Flame's smile was clearly audible; he obviously didn't think that he'd heard wrong. "Maybe you were wiser than that. But most mechs weren't, and they mistook the withdrawal for a retreat. The casualty list is a lot higher than it could have been, and Charnel is ... well, let's say that he's rumored to be _not happy."_

Had Skycross been able to move, he would have shivered; Charnel was scary enough when he was in a _good_ mood.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there was some, hmm, _reorganization_ in base management in the next few orns. Stormwhip in particular is in major trouble, assuming he survived. If he's found alive, he might come to wish that he hadn't been."

"Why?" asked Skycross; despite himself, he was getting interested in Shadow Flame's chatter. "What'd he do?"

"Oh, where do I start? Well, first he took his squad to the wrong place. He was ordered to reinforce the position where the Weaponmasters were trying to block the Autobot incursion, but instead he went around completely outside the wall. Theory is that he was trying to flank the Autobots, and while I'm sure he would have been commended for his initiative and original thinking if it had worked, it didn't. Next, he seems to have just thrown strategy to the wind and punched straight through into the middle of the Autobot forces. Nobody has any idea why he did that. I have heard of _no_ credible theories for that at _all."_

"How do you know this?" asked Skycross, curious.

"At least one member of his squad is still online," said Shadow Flame. "The rescue crews are following a distress beacon right now, but it's all tangled up down there and the beacon is weak so nobody knows who it is or if more mechs might be alive. But because of that, they know where his squad went down."

"No, sir," said Skycross. "I mean, how do you hear all this?"

"Ahhh." Shadow Flame chuckled. "I have my sources."

"We all know about your sources," said another Decepticon elsewhere in the room.

Shadow Flame laughed again. "No, you don't. Anyway, Skycross, you really need to stop calling me that! How are we ever going to be friends if you keep treating me like your commanding officer?"

Friends? With _Shadow Flame?_ "Uh ... I don't know, sir," said Skycross. He couldn't even conceptualize becoming friends with this mech. Shadow Flame was a regular Seeker, not a batch mech; he was beautiful and stylish, and ranked well above Skycross even without the batch aspect considered.

"Take it from me, the first step is for you to stop calling me _sir._ Anyway, it doesn't end there! Apparently right before the explosion Stormwhip was heard on one of the officer channels reporting that the Autobots were _on the run._ Nobody knows how many Decepticons heard that and took it seriously and went chasing after the withdrawing Autobots and ran straight into the kill zone, but the number is not zero."

"Holy Primus," said another Decepticon.

"I know!" said Shadow Flame, gleeful at another Decepticon's downfall. "If he ends up alive, I will lay odds that Charnel has his spark torn out in the quad."

"That's awful," said Skycross. He knew Stormwhip primarily from his position as an aide to Charnel, which made Stormwhip a figure of immense authority; Skycross could barely imagine a Decepticon like that making such a grievous error.

"Yeah," said Shadow Flame. "He probably got a least a couple of mechs killed, maybe dozens. Let's be fair about it, a _lot_ of mechs fell for the withdrawal, so it's not like he was the only one to screw that one up. But as far as I know he was the only one to practically order a charge into the trap. On top of everything else he did, oh, my, he is in desperate trouble. Let's all be kind and hope that he died an honorable death."

That wasn't really what Skycross had meant, but he didn't say anything about it. He was still reeling from the idea that his superiors could make catastrophic mistakes.

"I can tell you one mech who definitely _didn't_ die, honorably or otherwise," said Shadow Flame, his voice dropping again into a coy drawl. "I'm impressed by your ability to control your desire to inquire, and I am happy to report to you that your patron is still functioning. A little worse for wear, but I'm sure he'll come strolling in to see you as soon as the chaos calms down."

"What patron?" said Skycross, confused.

The other Seeker laughed, that warm, slightly mocking laugh that he did so well. "You're _so cute!_ Thundercracker!"

"Oh!" Skycross hadn't even considered that! Thundercracker? _Die?_ Impossible. "That's, uh ... that's good! But, um ... he's not really my patron, sir."

"Of course not," said Shadow Flame. "He's just a powerful commander who enjoys your company and your body, and who rips mechs apart who say unkind things about you. No, not a patron at all."

"It wasn't like that." Skycross found himself trying to flex his arms; the imposed immobility was frustrating. He really wished he could see the other Seeker. He was at a serious disadvantage like this, spread out and motionless, staring at the floor. "It's not about me. He didn't like what they were saying about batch mechs, it's just that I'm a batch mech, too."

Another laugh. "You're _adorable._ Well, you may not think he's your patron, but that's how everyone else sees it, and I'm sure Thundercracker sees it that way, too."

Could ... that be true? No, surely not. Thundercracker was interested in Skycross only because he was naive in the berth ... wasn't he?

"Well," said Shadow Flame after a moment. "All I can say is that you shouldn't be surprised if he starts giving you career advice, or asking you to polish his wings. But that doesn't matter. I thought you'd want to know what happened to him."

"... thanks," said Skycross, still stuck on the notion that he had acquired a patron. "Thank you, sir."

"He didn't come through unscathed, though. I tell you this so that you're not surprised when you see him." A long pause, no doubt for dramatic effect. "He lost a wing."

"... what?" Skycross tried to turn his head, wanting to look the other Seeker in the optic, to judge the truth of this. Skilled, courageous Thundercracker? Injured? "You're not serious!"

"I am completely serious. I heard that he and Black Ice were fighting under the outer wall when the bombs went off, and Black Ice lost a leg to the same piece of ceiling that took off Thundercracker's wing."

"Wow," said Skycross. That was such a shock! Losing parts was something that novices did; a Decepticon as high-ranked as Thundercracker shouldn't be losing pieces of himself.

But then, a Decepticon like Stormwhip shouldn't have mistaken an orchestrated withdrawal for a retreat.

Could it be that _every_ Decepticon leader was capable of error?

"Yes, but look on the bright side," said Shadow Flame. "The two of you will match."

It took a klik for that to sink in, for the meaning to go through Skycross's worried musing. "... I only have one wing?"

"You do, indeed, have only one wing," said Shadow Flame, and a line of agony went down Skycross's back as the other Seeker trailed a finger down the sore stripe on his back. "Your other one isn't looking that good either but I bet they'll save that one. In fact, you have a lot of stuff missing back here. What happened to you?"

Skycross bit down on a yelp as the other Seeker touched him. He'd had no idea ... shaken by the pain, he went through his damage warnings and triage list again, and couldn't locate any _wing not found_ notice. What other important parts was he lacking without knowing it? It made him feel weird. Incomplete, and uneasy. "A wall fell on me," he said.

"Got caught in the explosion, I heard."

"Kind of ... it was on the other side of the wall, I think, and it knocked me down and put the wall on top of me."

"You're lucky you got pulled out so fast, then," said Shadow Flame. "They're mostly doing the easy rescues first."

"I don't think it was luck," said Skycross, without really considering how that would sound.

Shadow Flame clicked at him. "I'm pretty sure nobody was considering Thundercracker's attachment to you when they went looking in the pile."

"No, it's not that." Skycross hesitated, but Shadow Flame was being so friendly and so nice that he didn't see a reason not to share his earlier revelation. "I think Primus is looking out for me."

"... really," said Shadow Flame. "Primus Himself."

"Yeah. I went by the temple last orn, and the priest there told me that if you ask Primus for help, He'll do what He can for you." He paused. "I remember waking up for a couple of kliks under the wall, and praying."

"Primus Himself," said Shadow Flame again, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Looking out for you." He made a spluttering sound.

_Frag._ Skycross suddenly burned with humiliation. Obviously Shadow Flame didn't believe in that stuff and thought it hilarious - or maybe _adorable_ \- that Skycross did. He shouldn't have said anything; all he'd done was give the other Seeker ammunition with which to mock him.

At least no other Decepticons in the room were laughing ... yet. But they might start if Skycross said more about his prayers, so he decided to not do that.

"Sir," he said instead, irritated by this most recent turn of the conversation and wanting to change the subject. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," said the other Seeker, still making little choking sounds. "And I told you, you don't have to call me that."

"Yes, sir. But, uh ... can I ask you ... why are you here?"

"I told you," said Shadow Flame. "I'm here to keep you company. Weren't you bored before I showed up?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. "But, uh ..."

"It's pretty boring for me, too. I can't help with the clean-up, I'm not much use for guard duty either, and everybody is either injured or busy."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross again. "But, I meant ..."

"Why you?" Shadow Flame chuckled. "Why not you? What's wrong with my coming to chat with you?"

Nothing, really, but that answer didn't get at the heart of Skycross's question. Surely Shadow Flame had other mechs - real friends - who also needed company. Why would he waste his time with Skycross, a batch mech? But Skycross couldn't think of a good way to ask this, a way that would be both respectful and understood.

"Besides," said Shadow Flame. "You're interesting."

"I am?"

"Of course! I was there, you know, at the post-victory celebration. You looked nervous at first, like you were afraid we were going to rip you apart, but after you relaxed some you were so funny."

"Yeah," said Skycross, irritation coming back. "I'm _adorable."_

"Hmmm." Again something touched Skycross's back, sending a sharp dagger of agony down into his chassis. "You really are a mess back here. They've got you laid open so they could get at your internals and some thingy is jacked into you. It's a good thing I decided to come watch you. Anybody could just walk in here and start fragging around with you."

_"Nngh,"_ said Skycross, unable to completely suppress the sound of pain. He'd almost gotten used to the baseline ache, but every time Shadow Flame touched him, it was unbearable.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Shadow Flame, with transparent insincerity. "I wasn't thinking." He moved his hand, and the pain began to abate. "Like I was saying, it's a good thing I decided to come. Not everyone is happy that you've caught Thundercracker's fancy."

"... ow. Yeah, I know." Skycross, feeling a little sullen now, thought back to some of the weird encounters he'd been having since the commander brought him into the regular mechs' club. "A lot of Decepticons keep bothering me about things, trying to make me late and getting in my way."

It was only after he said this that he remembered that one of the mechs who had _bothered_ him in this way had been Shadow Flame.

But Shadow Flame didn't seem to catch the inference. "Some mechs don't think it's fair that Thundercracker is giving his attention to a batch mech," he said. "I don't see things that way, though. It's obvious that the commander sees something special in you."

This statement was followed by an inviting pause, and Skycross debated whether or not to respond. On the one hand, Shadow Flame was being almost obsequiously friendly, but on the other the mech kept calling him some variation on the theme of _cute_ and touching his injuries. "... you think so?" said Skycross at last, because the idea of being special in some way was a new and intriguing one.

"He wouldn't take you under his patronage if he didn't," said Shadow Flame. "If you were just a good lay he would have moved on from you by now. Thundercracker isn't a mech to be tied down. He likes to sample widely, you might say."

"I really don't think that's how he thinks of me," said Skycross, but he said it slowly because Shadow Flame's words were appealing and he _wanted_ them to be true.

Shadow Flame clicked again. "You're so cute ... he gave you one of his comm codes, didn't he?"

"... yeah," said Skycross, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn't know how many mechs had known that, but spoken aloud in a roomful of injured Decepticons like this, soon _everybody_ would know it.

"I'm telling you, he wouldn't have done that if he didn't see you as being something more than an easy lay. Look." Shadow Flame leaned closer, his voice dropping in volume. "Thundercracker is _infamous_ for being willing to interface with anybody and any _thing._ He's done everything from Autobots to whole gestalts. It doesn't surprise me that he wanted a batch mech, but he _still_ wants you even after he's had you. He sees something in you."

"I'm just a ... just a batch mech, though," said Skycross, faltering halfway through it. _Just a batch mech._

Why did he keep saying things like that? Every time he was ordered to do something menial, or kept out of places because of his status as a batch mech, it grated in a way that it hadn't before Thundercracker had come into his life. He was more than _just a batch mech,_ he knew it. He could be more than this, more than one of the base flunkies, trusted with nothing substantial and expected to throw his life away immediately if so ordered.

And ... Thundercracker knew it, too, didn't he? That was what Shadow Flame was trying to say. Thundercracker _knew_ that he could be more than this. That was why the commander had given Skycross his comm code, and why he'd given Skycross so much of his attention.

Skycross's status as a batch mech was the reason why he accepted all manner of unpleasantness in his life, but he didn't want to _accept_ that sort of thing anymore. He'd already decided this. He wanted to walk into the regular mechs' club when he liked; he wanted to be recognized as a Seeker with a worth equal to that of the non-batch Seekers. He wanted to be valued.

Maybe the first step to that was to stop valuing himself as _just a batch mech._

"Yes, I know," said Shadow Flame. "Just a batch mech. But, well, apparently batch mechs are Decepticons, too." The thought seemed to amuse the other Seeker.

"Yeah," said Skycross. "Hey, uh ... what was that you were saying before, about grapple ball."

"Ahhh-hhhh." Shadow Flame cooed. "Are you interested?"

"Yeah."

"You never pinged me so I figured you weren't." Shadow Flame clicked. "It'll be a while before we can get a game going, all that trash in the tunnels needs to be cleared out first, and the repairs done. But sure, once you're back up and running and everything is back to normal, I'll scare up a game and give you a ping."

"I'd like that." And, Skycross realized that he _would._ Even if this was just some kind of trick, to get him into a position where he could be mocked and ridiculed by the regular mechs, he wanted to give it a shot. He could stand up for himself, right?

No ... he _had_ to stand up for himself. If he didn't want to be _just a batch mech_ for the rest of his life, if he wanted to be something more than that, he had to _make_ of himself something more than that. Shadow Flame was right; Thundercracker was favoring him for a reason.

He had to live up to that reason.

"It'll be fun," said Shadow Flame. "You've never played though, right?"

"No. Never."

"I'll teach you. The rules are really simple, but there's a strategy to it. And don't worry about the other mechs. I talked to them all earlier, when we expected you at the last game, and they were all eager to play with you."

"Really?" Skycross wasn't sure he believed that, but it made him feel warm inside regardless.

"Really! They were all disappointed when you never pinged, but I heard later that you were seen heading up to Thundercracker's quarters on the wall." A pause. "Was that true?"

"Yeah," said Skycross, seeing no reason to deny it. "He pinged me while I was with my wingleader."

"I see," said Shadow Flame, and Skycross could hear the smile in his voice. "Then I guess you had a good reason to want to skip the game. Tell me, was he good?"

"Oh, frag, yes!" said Skycross, without thinking about how that would sound, and chuckles arose from several points around what he abruptly realized was a _rather_ large room. Skycross was embarrassed for a moment, but then became annoyed that they were laughing at him, and said, "Shut the frag up. You all only _wish_ you had Thundercracker."

"Tsk," said a Decepticon who had not spoken before. "Don't get ahead of yourself, batch mech. You don't _have_ Thundercracker. Thundercracker has _you."_

"Don't listen to him," said Shadow Flame. "He's jealous."

"I am not!" said the unknown Decepticon. "Why would I be jealous of a _batch mech?"_

"He's jealous," repeated Shadow Flame. "I know this because _I'm_ jealous, and I'm a lot more important than Raidbreaker."

"... you are?" asked Skycross. "Jealous of me?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Mmmm." Shadow Flame's chair creaked. "Thundercracker. I'd give a lot to catch his optic. If he likes you enough, and you play your hand right, he might take you back to Darkmount with him when he leaves."

Why would he do that? Skycross could think of no reason why Thundercracker might do that, but the idea was startling, and intensely interesting. Skycross's world began and ended with the base hierarchy; he had never given even the first thought to leaving Charnel's command. This was where he'd been assigned, and this was where he lived and fought. When he gave it any consideration, he imagined that this was where he would eventually die.

But ... maybe that wasn't the case.

Maybe he didn't have to stay here.

"I don't think he'll do that," said Skycross, not because he believed it, but because he didn't want to make the regular mechs in the room feel that he was getting uppity. "I'm just a batch mech, after all." Even as he said it, he was sure that he no longer thought of himself that way.

He was a batch mech, sure. But not _just_ a batch mech.

"I wouldn't be so sure," said Shadow Flame. "After all, I heard that Thundercracker's assignment here has been extended, and he's ..."

Shadow Flame trailed off, not suggestively, but as though his attention were wandering elsewhere.

"What's going on?" asked Skycross after a moment.

Shadow Flame didn't reply, and footsteps approached. More visitors?

He hoped it was Thundercracker, but that hope was dashed when the new arrival said, "Skycross," and the voice was Redline's.

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. "Forgive me, sir, I, uh ... I can't stand up right now."

"It's all right. I assume there's a good reason why you're not answering your comm."

"Yes, sir. My comm is slagged."

"I thought it was something like that." Redline sounded remarkably sanguine about having to come all the way to the repair complex to contact one of his subordinates; it was almost scary, how calm he was. "So. Who are you?"

"Shadow Flame." The Seeker's voice was languid, and Skycross did not miss the lack of a _sir_ in his words. "I'm just visiting. Is this private? Should I leave?"

"No," said Redline. "Could hardly have a private conversation in here, and I'm not moving him by myself, not with my leg like this. What is that thing, anyway?"

Thing? "What thing?" asked Skycross.

"This?" said Shadow Flame. Something above Skycross, behind his head, rattled, and pulled at the extra-sore place on the back of his head. "I don't know. It's hooked up to him, that's all I know. Maybe it's keeping him alive. Should I unplug it, and we can find out?"

"No!" said Skycross. Whatever the _thing_ was, he definitely wanted it attached! "No, sir, please, don't do that."

"Oh, I wasn't going to." Shadow Flame chuckled. "You're so silly."

"Yeah," said Redline, not laughing. "Anyway. Skycross."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, very nervous now about Shadow Flame's presence in a way that he hadn't been before.

"I'm told you're going to be in repair for the foreseeable future. I'm here to inform you that once you're capable of walking, you're going to be temporarily attached to the interrogation division of Intelligence, under Consonance, for supplementary training. You'll stay with them full-time until you're flightworthy, and then we'll coordinate until you finish training."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, having no idea what this meant to him.

"Don't disappoint me," said Redline, and his voice took on a hard edge. "This is a major opportunity for you. I can't remember a batch mech ever being selected for this kind of work. If you frag this up, it's going to reflect on _me,_ and I will _not_ be happy."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. "I won't, sir." He reacted reflexively to the threat in his wingleader's tone, and all thoughts of inquiring as to just what this meant evaporated.

"You check in with Consonance once you're on your feet, and he'll set up your shifts." A pause. "I can see that that might be a while, though."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. As soon as I'm, uh, able to move, I'll check in. And, um, when I have a comm to check in with."

"You do that. I'm counting on you here, Skycross. Don't let me down."

"I won't, sir," said Skycross again, and then, because it sounded like Redline was about to leave, he asked, "Sir, can I ask you ... I wanted to talk to Windknife, but my comm is out ... could you ask him to come down here whenever he has a chance?" But wait, Windknife was probably damaged. "Unless he's hurt, of course, it's nothing that can't wait until he's fixed."

A long pause. "Skycross, Windknife was deactivated."

It took a moment for that to register.

"... oh," said Skycross. "I ... I didn't know."

Deactivated.

"Windknife and Headwind were both killed in action during the attack," said Redline. "We're going to have to do some reshuffling again, but don't worry about that now. Get well, report to Consonance as soon as you can, and work hard on what they try to teach you. Got it?"

"Got it, sir," said Skycross, but he was only half-listening.

Windknife couldn't be dead. It wasn't fair.

He and Windknife were supposed to be friends. Windknife was supposed to replace Streak. Skycross had been making plans to take him drinking and ... all along, he'd already been dead.

Redline walked away, and Skycross stared down at the floor. Dead.

Was that _his_ fault? He couldn't remember chasing an Autobot retreat, but that didn't mean he hadn't done it, it only meant that his memory was fragged. Had he gotten his wingmate killed?

"Wow," said Shadow Flame. "That's pretty awesome news."

"What?" How was Windknife being dead _awesome?_ It was awful!

"I've never heard of a batch mech interrogator," said Shadow Flame, that smugness back in his voice. "You'll be the first."

Oh, yeah. "I guess," said Skycross, still thinking about Windknife.

"That's the kind of thing that happens to you when a high-ranking commander favors you." Shadow Flame's voice was light.

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, not really listening.

With Streak gone, and now Windknife dead, too, who was going to be his friend?


	8. part eight

_five million years - part 8_

They took the lash to Stormwhip before they killed him, chaining him to the whipping post and then flogging him for more than two cycles straight. The quad wasn't as big as the staging ground and soon became crowded, as the spectacle drew a shifting audience of Decepticons coming and going about their business, and stopping for a few breems to watch. Skycross, still recuperating and exhausted after his training shift, was passing through on his way to the dorms and stopped as well. By the time he arrived Stormwhip was barely conscious, twitching each time the lash hit him and streaming with coolant and energon, and if he was making any sound it didn't carry.

Skycross had never seen a mech whipped to the point of unconsciousness before, and it made him feel queer inside. It was obvious that Stormwhip hadn't been sentenced to a specified number of lashes and that he was simply being beaten; it wasn't punishment so much as torture. Skycross hadn't really taken Shadow Flame's words seriously at the time, but he saw now that it really _would_ have been a kindness to simply wish Stormwhip dead in the explosion.

He was about to move on when he recognized that one of the mechs near the whipping post was Thundercracker. The commander didn't seem to be there in any kind of official capacity, standing by himself and looking up with a pensive frown, and so after a bit of deliberation Skycross walked toward him.

Thundercracker saw him coming, and smiled. "Skycross," he said, and lifted a hand invitingly. "So you're _not_ angry at me."

"Sir?" Skycross stepped into the commander's touch, and a curl of tension inside him, that he hadn't even noticed before, eased as Thundercracker's black hand went up his arm. "Angry at you? No, sir!"

"You weren't answering my pings," said Thundercracker, and his smile faded somewhat as he looked Skycross over, taking in all the temporary patches and braces. "I thought you were torqued that I hadn't come to see you in repair and being all petty and juvenile about it. Primus below, you are pretty slagged."

"Yes, sir," said Skycross. "No, sir, my comm was out until just this megacycle." To his relief, he noted that Thundercracker had already been fully repaired and had two wings, although the right wing was painted a flat blue and had no detailing; it would have made him feel queasy and wrong to see the commander lacking a wing. "No, sir, I didn't expect you to do that. I mean, I _hoped_ you would, but I know you're very busy."

"It's been very busy," agreed Thundercracker, and left it at that. "I saw that you were selected for cross-training. How is that working out?"

"I, uh ..." Skycross spent a moment weighing how much to say, and the silence was filled by the steady sound of the lash striking Stormwhip. "It's really hard, sir," he said finally.

"I imagine so." Thundercracker gently ran the backs of his fingers over the flat of Skycross's remaining wing. "Is it interesting, at least?"

"Yes, sir," said Skycross, and it wasn't _really_ a lie. _Interesting_ was definitely one way to describe how stupid this training curriculum made him feel. "I'm trying my best." Thundercracker's fingers on his wing felt so good, and he leaned into it.

"Tell me what they've got you doing."

"Um ..." The question was unexpected, and Skycross tried to organize his thoughts. "Well, right now I'm practicing on programmed drones. They gave me a bunch of hacking scripts to use, and I'm trying to learn how to figure out which ones to use and in which order. It's, uh ..." What would be a good word? "It's ... challenging."

"That's what I hear," said Thundercracker. His smile was back, as he gently stroked Skycross's wing. "I've never done it myself. Keep with it, though. Once you master this, you'll be a valuable asset to your unit."

"Really?" That was a nice thought.

"Mmmm."

The sounds of the whip ceased, and both Seekers turned to see what was going on. Stormwhip hung in his chains, not moving; Skycross couldn't tell if he was still online or not. The mech who had been administering the beating switched off his whip and coiled it up around his arm, and then approached Stormwhip and started to unchain him.

"I was really disappointed when I discovered that none of the batch mechs on this base had been given advanced training," said Thundercracker. "Charnel and I had a ... discussion about it. Megatron got involved."

"Oh." _Megatron._ The name sent a little thrill through Skycross's circuits.

"It's not like this elsewhere," said Thundercracker, his tone casual. "The batch mechs were never intended to be treated the way Charnel treats you. You're young, you're inexperienced. All Decepticons start out that way."

Stormwhip fell as soon as last shackle was released and didn't move once he hit the scaffold, but the mech who'd been whipping him simply rolled him over and dragged him back up. Skycross saw then that Stormwhip _was_ still alive, and still conscious to some degree, because he struggled weakly as he was chained again to the whipping post, turned around now to face the lash.

"How are they treating you, in Intelligence?" asked Thundercracker.

"Okay, sir. Consonance is hard to read. I'm never sure if he's torqued at me or what, but he hasn't yelled at me yet. And they're being really patient with me, considering."

"Considering ... what?" Thundercracker turned to give him a sidelong look.

"Uh ..." Skycross wished he hadn't said that; if Thundercracker had gotten him this assignment, he didn't want to disparage it in any way. "Considering ... what an idiot I am, sir."

"Did they call you that?" Thundercracker's tone was mild.

"No, sir," said Skycross, not wanting to get mechs he worked with in trouble. Technically, it was the truth; nobody had used that exact word to him. "But, uh ... it's _really_ hard to understand."

"You'll get it," said Thundercracker. "If your teachers are going too fast, or not explaining things adequately, just ask them to repeat themselves, or slow down. Don't be afraid of them, and don't be afraid to ask them questions. Their job is to make sure you understand, so that you don't have to figure this out on your own. You'll get it. I have faith in you."

His words sent a rush of warmth through Skycross, closely accompanied by a stab of anxiety; if he fragged this up, he realized, it would not only look bad on Redline, it would reflect poorly on Thundercracker as well.

That meant, of course, that he couldn't frag it up.

Stormwhip's flogging resumed, the whip now cutting across his chest and face, and he jerked with each strike and pulled helplessly at the chains. Thundercracker's hand moved from the flat of Skycross's wing to the lower edge, and then slid up to the tip. 

"Do you have any free time?" asked Thundercracker.

The soft pressure of the commander's fingers on Skycross's wingtip made his wiring feel hot inside him. "Yes, sir," he said, and Thundercracker's fingers twisted a little, gently rubbing. "I was ... um, just on my way to the dorm to get some fuel and rest."

"If you need to rest, we don't have to do anything," said Thundercracker softly.

"I, ah ..." Frag, Skycross actually _did_ need to rest, he was still only half-repaired and his energy allocation was not operating correctly; exhaustion was a new experience for him, and one he didn't like at all. Laying down for a while, just letting his damage control subsystem do its thing on the new repairs, sounded like bliss. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to spend time with Thundercracker. "I'm fine, sir. Really." Interfacing didn't _have_ to take a lot of power, right? 

Thundercracker said nothing at first, and after a few astroseconds Skycross looked his way; the commander was giving him an amused smile. "Really," said Skycross again.

"Come on." Taking a step away, Thundercracker gave Skycross's wingtip a gentle tug before letting his hand drop. "Come on."

Skycross followed him as he walked away from the whipping post and left the quad, wending through the base toward the administrative buildings on the defensive wall. As the administration complex came into view - Thundercracker's quarters somewhere among them - Skycross started to have misgivings about his lie. He'd already worked a full shift and then crossed half the base on his way to the dorm before his stop in the quad, and this additional hike was proving to be very wearying.

By the time he followed Thundercracker into the wall and joined him on the lift up to the complex, Skycross wanted nothing more than to fall over. There was no way he'd be able to interface with Thundercracker, even if all he was required to do was lay there.

He knew he should say something, because the longer he strung Thundercracker along the more annoyed the commander was going to be when Skycross's lie came out, but they got as far as Thundercracker's door before Skycross managed to find some words.

"Ah, sir ..." he said, as Thundercracker keyed open his door and gestured for Skycross to enter.

"Shhh. Go lay down."

What should he say? Skycross passed Thundercracker to enter the room, and stood in the middle of it for a moment trying to find a way to explain himself. Then he glanced at the berth, and it just looked so inviting, so appealing simply as a place he could comfortably rest ... Skycross couldn't help himself, and went to the berth as instructed.

Thundercracker moved to the blank wall which looked like it ought to be a window, and revealed that it _was_ a window by flipping some kind of control that made the metal shielding slide down into the floor.

The view was beautiful, overlooking the entire base all the way to the far wall, the lights on the ground distinct up close but retreating across the distance until they were like tiny stars. It was the kind of view that was readily visible from the air, but Skycross rarely had an occasion to be in flight over the base. He sat down on the edge of the berth and stared out the window, suddenly overcome by his fatigue.

No, he couldn't interface like this, not this tired, and the fact that he'd let Thundercracker bring him all this way, right into the commander's berth, before saying so was not going to go over well.

Thundercracker crossed the room to the cabinet where he kept his energon, and said, "Lay down."

"Sir," said Skycross. "I, ah ..."

"Shhh," said Thundercracker again. "Lay down."

His tone made it a command, and Skycross dithered but finally obeyed, and it felt _so good_ to become horizontal.

"Primus," he murmured. He really should have gone straight back to his dorm like he'd intended.

There was some clinking across the room, and then Thundercracker came around the screening wall and sat down on the berth near Skycross's head. "Here."

He had a datapad and a cube of energon in his hands, and Skycross struggled to sit up. He more than half-expected Thundercracker to feed the energon to him, but that didn't happen; the commander smiled and let Skycross take it from him.

It was high-grade, strong and smooth with a bite to it that was almost sweet. Skycross tasted it, and then knew that he was going to have to say something. He was in the commander's berth, drinking his expensive energon, on a completely false pretext.

"Sir ..." he said.

"Drink it," said Thundercracker.

"I ... I really can't interface right now, sir," said Skycross, miserable. He offered the cube back. "I'm sorry, I should have said something earlier! I should have told you right away, it's just ... uh ..."

He trailed off because Thundercracker was shaking his head. "You think I can't tell?" said Thundercracker. "Drink it."

Skycross wasn't sure what to say. Thundercracker could tell? "... but, sir ..."

"Drink your energon, then lay down again."

Well. Skycross hesitated a bit more, and then drank the cube. The energon smoothed through his malfunctioning fuel system like a balm, and he felt better almost immediately; then he lay back down, and almost moaned with how good that felt.

"I didn't bring you here to interface," said Thundercracker. "What gave you that idea?"

"Uh ..." The fact that every time they got together, it was because Thundercracker wanted him? "I just thought ..."

"You're barely functional. I could hear your fuel pump whining out in the quad." Thundercracker made himself comfortable, sitting across the berth with his back to the wall next to Skycross's head, and switched on the datapad. "Just rest some. How long before your next phase of repairs?"

_Just resting some_ sounded like an amazing idea. Skycross slowly relaxed, unable to fully believe his good fortune. Good energon, a comfortable berth, _and_ the commander's company? And he wasn't expected to do anything in exchange? "Two megacycles," he said. "At least. That's when they're going to check to be sure some circuitry or something has integrated, and do the next round if it has. I think they're also going to do a complete fluid replacement." He hesitated, because it was really hard to believe that Thundercracker was willing to tend to him this way. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't be sorry." Thundercracker smiled, not looking at him. "Is this your first major injury?"

"Yes, sir. The worst I've ever been hurt before was when I crashed during training and took off my vertical stabilizers. I thought that was pretty bad at the time, but ... this is so much worse. I never thought it would take so long to get fixed."

Thundercracker's thigh was right next to Skycross's head, brushing the tops of his air inlets. Skycross wanted to touch him.

"Well, it all depends," said Thundercracker. "Internal components are more complex than repairing or replacing a limb or a wing. At least you have something to do. The last time I was in repair for an extended period, we'd just signed a treaty with Qantrhopi and my only assignment was to get well." He glanced over, down at Skycross. "Tell me about what they're teaching you."

"Uh ..." Skycross kind of wanted to hear the story behind that injury. "Well, sir ... it's so hard."

"Tell me why it's hard."

"Um." How could he put this? How could he put the immensity of the skill he was expected to learn into words? "Okay, sir, I've got these scripts, right? You'd think it would be easy. You just pick the right script and run it."

"Right," said Thundercracker. He looked back to his datapad but his tone was interested.

"But ... there are _thousands_ of different scripts. _Thousands._ And just one script won't do it, because every firewall is this huge interconnected ... uh ..." Skycross searched for a word. "A _mess,_ a huge interconnected mess, and each script only addresses one thing, one tiny part of the whole mess. And a lot of the mess isn't visible at first, you can't see what's behind the first layer until you breach it, and then you have to figure out how to attack the next parts really fast, before the breach you've made closes." Just _talking_ about it made Skycross feel stupid and confused. "So there's all these things you can do, but most of them are wrong, and you have to pick the right one and just somehow _know_ before you get to the inner layers what's going to be there so you already have the right scripts ready!"

Skycross looked up at the ceiling. His exhaustion still weighed on him, and the complexity of the whole business wearied him. Even the thought of it wearied him. "I'm not explaining this very well."

"No, I think I understand," said Thundercracker. "It sounds a little like flying in weather."

That was a novel comparison. Skycross gave it some thought, but was unable to make a connection. The fact that he'd had a cube of high-grade probably wasn't helping; that slightly-drowsy, comfortable feeling of mild intoxication was hitting him. "I don't get it," he said after turning that around a bit.

"Hmmm? Oh." Thundercracker chuckled. "I forgot, you've probably never flown in weather, have you?"

"No, we usually stay in when it rains. I'm not acid-proofed."

"That hardly counts anyway." Thundercracker touched the datapad, paging it. "On some other planets, the atmosphere is thicker, and most other planets have suns. The sun heats one side of the planet while the other side is cold, and then the planet turns, and so there's a constantly-shifting temperature gradient. This can drive some pretty interesting weather."

Sun. Skycross knew what the word meant, and had even gotten the vague impression that, at some point in its past, Cybertron had once had a sun. But he couldn't picture it. He couldn't imagine a sky that was anything but starry black. He couldn't imagine a brighter source of overhead light than one of the moons glimmering with its internal glow.

"Other times," Thundercracker was saying, "if you have a large enough planet, its own gravity heats the interior enough to generate weather even if it's too far away from its sun, or it's a rogue like Cybertron. Flying in weather is a challenge. Strong enough weather can rip a Seeker's wings off, or bat him around like a toy. You can get thrown into a planet's surface, or down into its interior if it's too big to have a surface, or broken in half. But. Sometimes it has to be done."

"What do you do?" asked Skycross. Wind that could tear a Seeker in half?

"Read the winds," said Thundercracker. "It's a skill. Windspeeds can't be measured directly until you're in them, and by then it's too late. You don't want to fly the wrong way into strong crosswinds, or get pulled unexpectedly into a downdraft, so you have to know that those air currents are there before you reach them. You do that by reading the wind."

"How?" Skycross sat up a little and started to turn around. This was very interesting!

But Thundercracker pushed him straight back down. "Don't sit up," he said. "Stay there."

Skycross went back down, on his back looking up at Thundercracker's face. The commander's legs were right next to his head. Did he dare?

Maybe the high-grade made him daring, or maybe it was all himself, but Skycross dared. He slid himself up the berth a bit, and draped his head and shoulders over Thundercracker's lap. "Is this okay, sir?" he asked, looking up at the commander. "I'm still laying down, technically."

Thundercracker laughed. "Yes, that's okay," he said.

Victory! Skycross made himself comfortable. His missing wing meant that he could get close to Thundercracker's body, his shoulder bumping the commander's hips. "How do you read the wind?"

"Well." Thundercracker rested his datapad against Skycross's shoulder, optics still on it. "You have to understand that the atmosphere is a single system. Each air mass affects all the others, and they affect it back. So the way that one air mass moves is determined in part by how all the others are pushing and pulling on it."

That made sense. Skycross nodded.

"The way the air feels against your plating can tell you how the other air masses nearby are affecting the one you're in. How dense it is, the moisture level, the temperature, speed and direction ... the way it moves on your nosecone in comparison with the way it moves over your stabilizers ..." Thundercracker's voice went a little mystical, his optics no longer fully focused on the datapad in his hand. "It all tells you something. Important things about the way the air is moving elsewhere nearby. I can tell that a crosswind is coming up, for instance, by the way the air starts to bunch up, and then I know to turn to go with the airflow. But the signals get distorted and lost more than a few hundred mechanometers out, so you have to keep your attention on it, and you have to keep adapting to the changing conditions."

"I want to try that," said Skycross. That sounded complicated, too, but it sounded like the kind of complicated that he could master. He could _do_ that. He just knew he could.

"Let's hope you don't have to," said Thundercracker.

"Why not, sir?" Skycross _wanted_ to try it!

Thundercracker glanced away from the datapad, to Skycross's face. "Because," he said gently, "we only go to other planets when we are at war. And right now, we can't afford a second war."

Oh. "Right," said Skycross. Disappointing, but he saw the truth of it immediately.

"But you see how what you're talking about sounds similar," said Thundercracker, optics going back to the datapad. He touched it to page it.

"Uh ..."

Skycross thought about it. Flying in weather, _reading the wind_ as Thundercracker had said, sounded complex but it also sounded _fun._ His circuits itched to try it. He didn't see any link between that and the hacking skill that he was trying to learn; reading the wind sounded exciting, but he dreaded having to go back for more interrogation training next shift.

"No, not really," he said eventually.

"No?" Thundercracker again paged the datapad, and when he let his hand drop this time it dropped quite naturally onto Skycross's arm. "It sounds similar to me. But I've never done what you're doing, so perhaps I'm wrong."

Skycross was not going to agree with _that,_ of course. "I'm sure you're not wrong," he said. "It's just that _I've_ never done that, that reading the wind stuff, so that's probably why I'm not seeing it."

"Maybe." Thundercracker's hand move over Skycross's arm, gently stroking. "It sounds very similar to me, the whole idea that you can't sense a thing directly, and have to read its indirect effects to know that it's there. Isn't that kind of what you were trying to say?"

"I ..." Was it? Thundercracker's touch to his arm was distracting.

"What's this?"

Skycross looked up. "What's what?"

The commander's fingers, moving down his arm, had reached the knife clamped to the outside of Skycross's wrist. "Oh, that," said Skycross. "It's an energon knife."

"I see that," said Thundercracker. "What's it doing there?"

"It's Windknife's," said Skycross, raising his other arm to show Thundercracker the other one, magnetically locked to his other forearm. "He loaned them to me during the attack. When they found me in the wreckage the knives he gave me were nearby, so they assumed they were mine and gave them back to me."

"Windknife is ... who? Oh, wait." Thundercracker interrupted himself before Skycross could answer. "One of your wingmates, one of the ones we reviewed after you got promoted."

"Yes, sir." It made Skycross feel weird to look at the borrowed blades.

"He doesn't want them back?"

"I'm ... sure he would," said Skycross. "But he was killed."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

Skycross hadn't expected that, and he looked up at Thundercracker; the commander was giving him a crooked little smile. "Why do you say that?" said Skycross.

"Why wouldn't I?" Thundercracker brushed the backs of his fingers over Skycross's cheek. "It's hard to lose a wingmate."

"I ... yeah, I guess it is." Nobody had said anything remotely like that to Skycross before; nobody except him had seemed to miss Streak at all, and nobody except him missed Windknife now. Redline's only concern was how deaths left holes in the wing, and Shear barely seemed to notice the turnover. Tailwind had been a wreck since his twin's death, but that was different.

Thundercracker looked back to his datapad, his fingers still stroking gently over Skycross's face. "Sometimes it's harder than others. It depends on how long you've been flying together. After a million years ... it's very hard."

A million years ... "I guess," said Skycross.

He hadn't thought that someone else could feel the same way, that someone else would think of a wingmate's death as being more than just an annoyance, or an organizational obstacle.

"But if it ever seems easy," said Thundercracker, "you need to take a close look at yourself. Cutting yourself off from your wingmates is a good way to stop the pain, but it's also a good way to get all of you killed."

"I ... it is?"

"You and your wingmates have to work together. You don't have to be friends if you don't like each other, but you need to know each other well enough to be able to count on each other. You have to be able to know how your wingmates will react to anything. When you start to lose that closeness, you start to lose effectiveness."

This was ... a _completely_ original idea to Skycross. "I don't know my wingmates very well at all," he said.

"Well, you just got new ones," said Thundercracker. "It takes time."

"Yeah, but ..." He felt suddenly ashamed to admit this. "I've been in the same wing with Shear since we came to the base together, and ... I don't really know him that well. I always hung out with Streak instead."

"You don't do things together as a wing?" Thundercracker's tone was offhand.

"Just exercises and patrols." Was this wrong? Did Thundercracker disapprove? Skycross looked up at the commander, but Thundercracker's optics were on his datapad and his expression was neutral. "Uh ... should we be doing things together?"

"Your wingleader," said Thundercracker. "It's Redline, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmm." Thundercracker went silent.

Skycross thought of all the times he and Streak had gone drinking together, or gone to the firing range or training rooms together. It had always been just the two of them ... Shear and Hardpoint kept to themselves, and Darklight had had a friend in another wing that he preferred over any of his wingmates. Skycross and Streak had developed a good friendship - Skycross wouldn't have trusted Streak with anything valuable, but he'd known he could count on his friend to watch his back, and he'd done the same for Streak.

"We were just kind of thrown together as a wing, I think," said Skycross. "One of the other batch mechs said that they used the computer to randomly assign us to wings in groups of five. None of us knew one another before we were all assigned to Redline. Does that make a difference?"

"That's not the usual way to do it," said Thundercracker, "but it's not an invalid way. Random wing assignments happen sometimes. You work with what you have. It's really Redline's responsibility to make sure that the wing comes together, but since he's falling down on that, you should do it."

"... me?" Skycross looked up at Thundercracker. "I can't do anything, sir."

"Of course you can. You're the wing-second, aren't you?"

"Well ... yes, sir ... but that doesn't mean they have to listen to me when we're all off-duty." They barely had to listen to him when _on-_ duty; the authority of Skycross's position was nominal.

"It wouldn't be an order," said Thundercracker. He moved his hand again, paging his datapad, and when he set it back down it landed on Skycross's shoulder. "Just a suggestion. An offer, to come spend some time together as a wing. You'll want to wait until you're recovered and your wingmate has been replaced."

"... wingmates, sir," said Skycross. It felt so nice to have Thundercracker touching him like this, so casually. "We, ah, we lost two."

"Hmmm." Thundercracker's hand moved back up to Skycross's cheek. "Yes, well. You'll also need to move those knives."

Skycross lifted a hand and looked at the blade on his wrist again. "I kind of want to keep them," he said. "They're neat."

"Not on your arm like that. They'll catch when you transform."

That ... was true. Skycross frowned. He hadn't even thought of that. "Windknife had them on his wings," he said. "He had some kind of modification that let him put a couple pairs along the leading edges."

Thundercracker chuckled. "That's very impractical."

"It looked cool, though!"

"I'm sure it did, but it's impractical. Look."

He extended his arm, and a small module suddenly popped out of the plating of his forearm; there was a blur of motion as a blade shot out of the module and Thundercracker caught it in his hand. "You see?" he said, giving the glowing knife a twirl. "That's the kind of thing you want."

"Awesome!" said Skycross, and he tried to sit up; he wanted to take a closer look at that! But Thundercracker laid a hand on his chest and forced him to recline. "Can I see that again?"

Thundercracker laughed, and set down the datapad so that he could shove the blade back into its launcher and re-deploy it for Skycross. He was so quick with it ... the knife shot out in a nanoklik but Thundercracker caught it neatly with an upward twitch of his hand. "It's nothing you can't do," he said, when Skycross asked him how he'd learned to do that. "It just takes a little practice."

"I want one of those," Skycross declared. Windknife's wing blades had been cool, but Thundercracker's hidden knife was _wicked._

"Yes, you do," said Thundercracker, pushing the blade back into its slot again. "I don't use them much, but when I need them, I really need them. I have one inside each arm."

"How do I get something like that? I want one!"

"Hmmm." Thundercracker picked up his datapad again and resumed reading and stroking Skycross's arm. "I got mine in Vos, but ..." His voice caught, and his vocalizer clicked as he reset it. "That's obviously not an option anymore."

"Oh." Vos.

"I'll check around for you. I'm sure there are dealers in Kaon, or maybe Polyhex. Start saving your credits."

"I will, sir." Skycross took Thundercracker's forearm, and turned it around until he could see the lines of the hidden launcher; the seam was all but invisible against the black paint. "I bet you can take that anywhere. Nobody would know you had them." 

"Mostly," said Thundercracker. "They show up on deep weapon scans, but you don't run into those often."

Skycross examined Thundercracker's arm a bit more, and Thundercracker indulged him; when he released the commander's hand, it went back to gently petting him. He relaxed back against Thundercracker's lap, content.

This was all just so nice. He felt good, his fuel system humming rather than stuttering and laboring, and Thundercracker's nonchalant caresses were so comforting. His crushing exhaustion was gone, replaced by a kind of complacent lassitude; he felt like he could drift into recharge if he let himself.

"Thank you, sir," he said, after a breem or so of companionable silence.

"Hmmm? Why?"

"For ..." Everything. "Letting me lay here," said Skycross.

Thundercracker chuckled, and his hand stroked over Skycross's chest and the top edge of his instrumentation canopy. "I guess you didn't notice this, but I didn't _let_ you lay here so much as I _made_ you lay here."

That was true. Skycross looked up at Thundercracker; the commander was still reading his datapad. "Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I kind of expected you to lose interest in me," said Skycross. "I mean, I guess it's not too late for that, you still could."

"I could," said Thundercracker, equanimous.

"But, uh ... you know, now that I'm not a virgin anymore ... what do I have that you would want?"

"I guess you didn't notice this either," said Thundercracker, rubbing his thumb over Skycross's canopy, "but I wanted you _before_ I knew that about you."

Skycross thought about it, and abruptly realized that this was true, too; Thundercracker had drawn him into the back of the club before knowing that.

"I like that I got to teach you," Thundercracker continued. "You don't have any bad interfacing habits that you've picked up from other mechs. I like jacking into you knowing that you don't have any hidden viruses you've picked up from careless interfacing."

"I still haven't jacked into anyone else," said Skycross. "Just the mainframe and the training drones at Intelligence, and that wasn't for interfacing."

"Exactly. You never know what a strange mech has lurking around in his RAM, waiting to infect you as soon as you establish a connection."

The commander's words made Skycross feel very warm inside, and right then he decided that he wasn't going to interface with anyone else, ever. That was the only way he could guarantee to keep himself clean, so that Thundercracker would always feel safe making a physical connection with him.

It was unlikely that any other mech could tempt him, anyway. Thundercracker made him feel so _good,_ overloaded him so effortlessly. Who else would ever do that for him?

"I can't pick up viruses from interrogations," he said. "Consonance said so. They're going to give me upgraded firewalls and antivirals as a failsafe later, once I start practicing on real mechs, but he said that the way the connection is made, it's kind of one-way."

"I know," said Thundercracker. "How long before you start doing that, by the way?"

Oh, Primus. Skycross didn't even want to _think_ about it. "I don't know, sir," he said. "I'm on passive drones right now, ones that don't fight the hack. Once I get good at this - if I _ever_ get good at this - they'll start me on active drones that put up resistance, and then I'll move up to practicing on Autobot prisoners."

"Hmmm." Thundercracker hesitated, and then said, "You know, it used to be that this kind of skill was largely restricted to the civilian law-enforcement and to the Decepticon security forces. Only a few Decepticons ever learned it, and when they did, they practiced on each other."

"Ugh." Skycross actually shivered. "I wouldn't want someone hacking me."

"We didn't have Autobot prisoners then. It was your fellow Decepticons or nothing."

Again, Skycross shivered with the thought of it. "Well, I wouldn't have agreed to that," he said. "Nobody is hacking me."

"Then why would anybody agree to let you hack _them?_ You wouldn't get in any practice yourself."

Hmmm. Skycross thought about that some, and then grinned. "Well ... I'd lie!" he said. "I'd say hey, lemme hack you, and then later I'll let you hack me, and then when I got what I wanted I'd just run off."

Thundercracker laughed. "Your superiors probably wouldn't like that," he said. "They'd probably decide to tie you down and let all your classmates practice on you from then onward."

"Noooo," said Skycross, unwilling to even entertain the concept. "That definitely wouldn't happen."

"Mmmm." Thundercracker's hand moved down Skycross's chest, stroking the seals around his canopy. "I can picture you like that. Tied down, helpless. Hacked, over and over. That's really hot."

Hot? _Primus._ It wasn't hot to Skycross ... it sounded awful. "Yes, sir," he said, because he didn't agree at _all._ The way Thundercracker's fingertips were exploring his canopy seals was pretty hot, but Skycross kind of wanted to change the subject, so he added, "It's a good thing we have Autobots this time."

"I suppose it is." Thundercracker's hand moved away, paging his datapad, and when he put it onto Skycross again he was touching the younger Seeker's shoulder, which didn't feel nearly as good. "You're lucky that way."

Skycross made an assenting sound. He didn't like that idea of being restrained and hacked one bit, but Thundercracker's comments did lead to an interesting line of thought, one that he'd had before. "Sir," he said. "You knew Autobots before the war, didn't you?"

"That's right."

"What was that like?"

A long hesitation, long enough for Skycross to wonder if he'd asked something he shouldn't have. "I was taught," said Thundercracker eventually, "that power was not meant to be used for the sake of itself. The average Decepticon is larger and stronger than the average Autobot, and we are built with weapons ... in many respects we _are_ weapons ... whereas Autobots must take up arms to defend themselves. You can disarm an Autobot just by kicking his hand, usually, whereas to disarm a Decepticon requires you to rip pieces off his chassis."

"Yeah," said Skycross, remembering the Autobot he'd killed in the tunnels, apparently armed with only a handheld weapon. As he thought about it, that was true of most of the Autobots he'd seen.

"I was taught to defer to Autobots most of the time." Thundercracker's voice was low and even. "I was bigger than most of them and could kill even some of the big ones easily if I wanted, so I was taught that I had to be more forbearing than they were, harder to anger. It was Decepticon honor to be a deadly weapon and yet behave gently to civilians. It was only acceptable to get into fights with Autobots if they shot first or threw the first punch, and even then we were not to use greater force with them than what was necessary to defend ourselves."

"That sounds so annoying," said Skycross. "I bet you were frustrated all the time."

"Not really. I stayed in Space Defense." Thundercracker said this as though it explained everything, but it really didn't. "And besides, the civilians who picked fights with me when I went off-base did it because they were weak, and were trying to prove to themselves or their friends that they weren't. I wasn't weak, I was never weak, even when I was your rank, and I knew it. I didn't have to prove it to anyone. Trashing civilians didn't make me any stronger, so why do it?"

Skycross mulled that one over.

"I believed in it at the time," said Thundercracker. "In some aspects, I still do. But I think this attitude was ultimately our downfall in the Senate. The Autobot Senators came to think of the Decepticon Senators, all the Decepticons really, as being tools for them to use, ones that would submit to being used without complaint."

"I hate them," said Skycross. "That's not what we are."

"No, it isn't, but don't hate them. Hate is a counterproductive emotion. It makes you angry and blinds you, makes you do foolish things. I've seen mechs sacrifice their long-term goals, and sometimes their lives, in the service of hatred."

Tilting back his head, Skycross looked at the ceiling and thought about that. "You don't hate them?" he asked. "Not even after what they did to Vos?"

"I'm ... trying not to," said Thundercracker. His voice was even and did not betray any emotion, but, looking up, Skycross saw his mouth twitch. "I'll admit, it's hard."

"I don't think I can do that," said Skycross. "I hate them. I liked Vos. I was there a couple of times, did I tell you that?"

"I don't think so, no."

"I was." Skycross ran a hand over the blade clamped to his left arm. "I bet Windknife got his modification in Vos. I bet these knives came from Vos."

"Not unlikely."

"I hate them," said Skycross again. "I hope I get to help kill them someday."

"The Senate Autobots are cowardly," said Thundercracker. "They never leave Iacon, and rarely leave the Senate complex. It will be a long time before we get to them, if we ever do."

Skycross peered at the commander. "You don't think we're going to _lose,_ do you?"

Thundercracker chuckled. "No. The Decepticons have never lost a war and the Autobots are weaker than we are. But the Autobots might sue for peace before we kill the Senate, and then the war might end before we get to the Senators."

"There can be no peace," said Skycross. "Not after Vos. You said so."

"I did. And I meant it." Thundercracker looked away from his datapad, but he didn't look at Skycross either, he just kind of stared at his hand. "After Vos ... But the Autobots might surrender. You never know. They probably won't, but I've been surprised before."

"I like that idea." But Skycross didn't think much on it; he was thinking more about Vos. The shining city, the spires, the Aerie, the cacophony of lights and sound in the lower districts, the haze of pollution that caught all the light and seemed to hold it in a cloud over the city. "Sir," he said. "Tell me about Vos. You knew it better than I did."

"Hmmm." Thundercracker seemed to shake himself a little, went back to whatever he was reading. "I'd rather not, if that's okay."

"Oh." Disappointing. "Yes, sir."

"Maybe some other time." Thundercracker offered a smile, but it was a melancholy sort of smile. "I knew a lot of the mechs in Vos. You understand."

_Oh._ Skycross _did_ suddenly understand; that had been rather stupid of him. "Yes, sir," he said again. And then, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's okay. Some other time."

"I'd like that," said Skycross. "I want to remember it how you remember it."

Thundercracker's smile turned brittle, and his vocalizer clicked again.

"That's kind of you," he said at last. "I'll let you know."


End file.
